"One misty, moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather, I met with an old man, a- clothe'd all in leather." So goes an old song (British, I think...) that, sure enough, just as I guessed, Cebah quoted when she saw these photos.
I wasn't where I thought I'd be this morning, in the city visiting with friends at a wedding, instead I woke up here in dandyland for my usual crack-o-dawn walk. When I saw that dandyland was enveloped in mist, I went back inside to get my camera so that you, dear bloglets, could see how lovely misty moisty morning walks can be around here.
I started out through the garden gate, under the laden apple tree mentioned some blogs back.
The late garden was dim, dew-spangled and hung over with morning glories.
I went on through, across the neatly tended hayfields and across the fence into my late cousin Ralph's field, now grown thick with autumn wildflowers - purple ironweed, tall queen of the meadow - (showing where a hidden seep further moistens the low part of the field ) - cerulean mistflowers, golden rod - all festooned with dew-bejewelled lacery of spider webs. The unmown field is so grown up that Alf had to leap at every step, and in no time I was soaked nearly to the waist.
In the woods the mist was not so dense, but it did dim the morning light to pale grey mysticism, hiding boundaries and borders, making it possible to imagine infinity beyond sight. And the mist muffles sound too, so that the air is hushed, with only the odd sound, like a gloved finger caressing tiny cymbals, of countless dripdrops falling from one leave to another.
Within the mist, dandyland could even exert its magical influence over the road that cuts through the bottom edge. Stepping across it didn't feel like exposure this morning. Everything stayed deliciously hidden. I got the newspaper and headed back into the misty woods, following the path that leads through a tunnel of honeysuckle and bushes, into the wondrously familiar unknown.