The earth was warm and the early morning air above the stream by the beaver pond was cold. A dense fog lay over everything, and the sun came up through the tendrils of fog in a way that was downright magical, in spite of the temperature, the wind and the dampness.On such a morning last year, there were at least a dozen migrating herons standing patiently here in the fog at sunrise, and they appeared one by one in regal profile as I squelched my way along the boggy verges, camera in hand. I was hoping for a heron or two this week, but (alas) there were no herons to be seen at sunrise.
2 comments:
Your photo captures the essence of Turner's paintings. Lovely.
Marvelous, darlin', just great. Came into the hotel after a long day and saw this. Balm.
Hugs.
Kim
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