Low, low clouds, in a masquerade of mist, sit squatly up on the hill,
amidst trees furred with moss and lichen.
Branches bowed and cracked in the snow’s wake litter the soft footbed of mulching leaves.
Transplanted beasts, shaggy pelts damply waved, turn quizzically towards passers-by.
And the great king of trees, rooted here for centuries, waits patiently
to be gently taken for a ride.
How beautiful the trees look! Thank you for another fine post with beautiful , atmospheric photos.
It’s fascinating how the place you live in shapes your experience. High on a hill up here we don’t really get mist. Sometimes we look down on it as it fills the valley. Sometimes the cloud on top of the hill comes down and envelops us too. But mostly it is clean and clear up here. I love it but I loved your misty, blurred world too.
Interesting that you don’t get mist. I’d say that this was low cloud rather than mist but I’m not sure what the difference is.