The castle stands stoic on the hill;
The town has sprouted through the centuries around it.
In the cobbled courtyard, merchants come to market,
Yammering about the goods piled precariously on their tables.
A closer look, a shaking back to reality, reveals that they are
Street food vendors, tourist traps, magnet sellers and postcard suppliers.
But through the film of time, the castle has not changed.
Tight fitting stone blocks, arched windows, steep stairs...
If a trumpet sounds and a king comes by in a horse drawn carriage,
One would not be surprised.
The streets lead crazily up and down steep hills
As if designed by a drunk.
The town spreads before the castle:
Hundreds of red and black rooftops
Set into the hillsides at different elevations.
Sports stadiums, shopping malls, and ugly concrete parking lots
Are still things of the distant future.
In the distance, beyond the town, lies the lake,
Glittering in the morning sun.
It is a deeper blue than the sky itself,
Garnished with diamonds of sparkling light.
And beyond the lake, adorning the horizon, are the sharp peaks of the Alps.
Each mountain thrusts fingers of rock into the sky,
Attempting to catch the wispy clouds that drift by.