white
white mist rises from the hollow
as if a plume of smoke
enveloping
developing
into a fog that moves across the meadow
and slowly encloses the farm
in a veil of moist white air
between storms
response to week twelve of the thirteen weeks of summer
the solstice to solstice project with Sarah Jean at urban.prairie.forest
What a gorgeous shot – and the words just transport you there to witness it!
at least it is mist and not smoke. 🙂
Lovely shot and poem.
How pretty! I agree with Tex- thank goodness it isn't smoke!