These shots were taken somewhere in between Salzburg, Austria and Prague, Czech Republic. It being a day train, we had plenty of time to gaze out at the stark midwinter terrain that eventually gave way to the concrete slab apartment complexes of outer Prague. One of the more interesting aspects of rail travel is the access to societal borderlands - those private spaces often neglected, or forgotten, by a community turned in the opposite direction. Discarded traces of humanity - bulging trash bags, furniture, stripped cars - blurred at the base of the ravine we powered through on the way to Prague. Up the embankment, life continued as normal.

The paths that crisscross the farmland below Drachenwand, near Mondsee, Austria, are widely used by cyclists, farmers and hikers.

Mondsee (Moonlake) is a small Austrian town located in the Völklabruck district, near Salzburg. Despite featuring the Collegiate church used for the wedding in The Sound of Music,  Mondsee’s architectural beauty is overshadowed by its natural surroundings. Above the shimmering lake that gives the town its name, mountains -  both the Northern Limestone Alps of the South and the sandstone of the North - rise, their craggy sides dotted with pine outcroppings. Towering above the southern shore of the lake is Drachenwand (Dragonwall), pictured here.

I stayed with a good friend in Mondsee for several weeks in March of 2007, using it as a base for our adventures along winding mountain passes to surrounding cities and notable ski areas. But Drachenwand, such an incredible backdrop to the trim cottages and placid farmland of the valley below, proved to be the image that has remained in my mind ever since. What makes is so striking is the gradation, from flat plains to jagged cliffs in what seems, at lake level, a very short distance. Its base is obscured from view by an impenetrable stand of thick pine, into which I never ventured, although the curiosity was always there. Dirt paths disappeared into the band of forest at irregular intervals, leading me to believe that some of the village’s more private citizens had found refuge at the very foot of Drachenwand.

Primed for skiing at several smaller mountains nearby - easy access, shorter lines - we arrived in Salzburg to find that an early thaw had relegated the Austrian winter to meager puddles and grimy snowbanks. Forced to reevaluate several days’ worth of planning, we headed inland from the lake to explore. The smell of earth and fresh grass engulfed us as we ambled without direction along the small paths that crisscrossed the fields below Drachenwand, and we forgot, for the moment, about fresh powder, steep downhills and lunchtime Glühwein. On days off from searching out any remaining snow at higher altitudes, I would return to jog along these paths, exchanging frequent hellos with cyclists and farmers enjoying the brilliant spring surrounding them, the verdant pastures peaceful under Drachenwand.