The past month we have been obsessed with misty mornings. There have been full-on white out mists that envelop all that the eye can see; there have been mists that hang in the valley, following the river downstream for most of the day; and there have been other mists that seem to appear right in front of your eyes rising mystically off the fields as we wander with the dogs in the late afternoon. They are always changing, morphing, moving, lifting. As the air cools or the sun warms or a gentle breath of wind moves and shapes them.
We look forward to the glimpse of first light to see what the night has conjured in quiet expectation.