Dusty Dew Clouds
Dusty dew clouds clung close to their mother and rambled across the fields like listless apparitions. The mercury held just above freezing and the damp fingers of the fog infiltrated the layers of miracle fabric putting a chill on the skin. In a fog this dense medieval armies would pass one another never being aware of the others presence. Even in a metropolis, it is quiet on these crisp mornings when civilians stay tucked by the hearth dreaming of excuses for missing Sunday services.
Like soldiers in the pressing dawn we pulled on our armor, mounted spoked steeds, pushed off and disappeared into the billowing curtains of white. An early strong pace shook off the shivers and created some warmth stretching into the fingers. As we rode through the cloud, lenses beaded with moisture and evolved into mini waterfalls just in front of your eyes. The beaded dew created goatees and eyebrows on everyone faces and a white sheen on everyones clothing.
After passing the neighborhoods of ticky-tacky we reached the farmsteads of Lucas and Allen. The rows of the fields, still dormant from last season, reached away from us and disappeared into the cold fog. Steeples and tree tops tried to assert their magnificence by poking out of the snowy pillows only to be swallowed again. A white horse with brown spots surreally stood out from the cloud of mist that both framed and hid it from view. The horse may have been enjoying the quiet of the morning, as it did not comment at our passing, or it may have been a dream at the edge of a cold and oxygen deprived consciousness.
Dusty dew clouds clung close to their mother and rambled across the fields like listless apparitions. The mercury held just above freezing and the damp fingers of the fog infiltrated the layers of miracle fabric putting a chill on the skin. In a fog this dense medieval armies would pass one another never being aware of the others presence. Even in a metropolis, it is quiet on these crisp mornings when civilians stay tucked by the hearth dreaming of excuses for missing Sunday services.
Like soldiers in the pressing dawn we pulled on our armor, mounted spoked steeds, pushed off and disappeared into the billowing curtains of white. An early strong pace shook off the shivers and created some warmth stretching into the fingers. As we rode through the cloud, lenses beaded with moisture and evolved into mini waterfalls just in front of your eyes. The beaded dew created goatees and eyebrows on everyone faces and a white sheen on everyones clothing.
After passing the neighborhoods of ticky-tacky we reached the farmsteads of Lucas and Allen. The rows of the fields, still dormant from last season, reached away from us and disappeared into the cold fog. Steeples and tree tops tried to assert their magnificence by poking out of the snowy pillows only to be swallowed again. A white horse with brown spots surreally stood out from the cloud of mist that both framed and hid it from view. The horse may have been enjoying the quiet of the morning, as it did not comment at our passing, or it may have been a dream at the edge of a cold and oxygen deprived consciousness.