It was the last week of August. Down in the valley, the air remained warm and summery, but up here—at an altitude of over 2,200 meters—the wind was already beginning to shift its rhythm. I arrived at Passo Giau in the early afternoon, scouting for a classic yet compelling composition.
As I waited for the golden hour, something unusual caught my eye: the grass—scorched by weeks of summer sun and lashed by the first cold nighttime gusts—had lost the brilliant green typical of July. It had already taken on a straw-like, golden, parched hue, reminiscent of an autumn landscape.
With only minutes left until sunset, the clouds aligned perfectly in the west, leaving a strategic gap just above the horizon. As the sun dipped into that opening, it cast a warm, grazing beam of light across the scene.
I positioned myself slightly above the winding mountain road, incorporating a small larch tree in the foreground on the right, along with the dark rocks at its base, to add depth and a rugged quality to the frame. When I pressed the shutter, time seemed to blur: the calendar still marked summer, but the light, the cold wind against my skin, and the warm tones captured by the sensor all loudly proclaimed that autumn had arrived.
