Fog transformed our view of the world on Tuesday, lending mystery and enchantment.
All day damp tendrils clung to grasses and leaves, giving a soft focus to all. Scents of passing animals lingered in the still air, exciting the noses of our faithful friends. Sounds carried clearly through the mist – the sharp bark of a far-off dog, rustlings and creakings in the undergrowth.
Thin shaves of ice rimmed the ponds, the water reflecting a pale sun valiantly trying to burn through.
Trees loomed like silent friendly giants, sheltering birds in their strong arms.
A patch of bright green showed off its sparkling diamonds, the taller grasses around protecting the treasure.
The sun made one last brave attempt to challenge the haze, casting its shafts between the branches of the dark trees, to no avail. It was too late. The day - a November day of quiet and solitude - had been slow to awaken and would soon return to slumber.
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