I shot this on Mt. Pilatus in Switzerland using infrared film.

Infrared changes everything. The grass glows white. The sky goes dark. Trees become luminous. The whole scene feels like it exists in some parallel version of reality where the rules of light don't apply.

This cabin sat alone in a clearing halfway up the mountain. No power lines. No road access. Just a weathered wooden structure that looked like it had been there for a hundred years, probably longer. The kind of place someone built because they needed shelter and had nothing but timber and determination.

I don't know if anyone still uses it. Probably not. Most of these old alpine cabins are abandoned now. Too remote. Too primitive. Too far from the conveniences people expect. But it's still standing. Still doing what it was built to do.

There's something about structures like this. Built to last. Built without pretense. Just four walls and a roof against whatever the mountain throws at you.

The infrared turned it ghostly. Like it was already halfway to becoming a memory. But it's still there. Still real. Still refuge.