Morning Mists

12 Jan

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

fires-of-dawn

My breath hung on the air, echoing the shifting mists over the village as I stood on the hill this morning watching the pale sun rising in the east.  The dog ran through the undergrowth chasing elusive scents, catching little crystals of frost in her fur.

Though not far from the village and the road, the world was silent apart from the muffled birdsong, wrapped in a magical blanket of amorphous white, cocooning the landscape in mystery. Yet there was an unmistakable air of awakening as the sun rose, tinting the mists with rose-gold. A burgeoning awareness, a glimpse of distant headlights as the world woke to action, a whisper of activity carried on the air. Tiny lights defined by distant windows flickered like terrestrial stars through the shrouding wraiths as households awoke and began their day beneath the pall of mist.

I watched the sun as it came up…

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