When I was a little girl, I was enchanted with a foggy morning. Mist, with it's silvery, lavenderish cast, was more beautiful than the sunniest of June days. I would run to school imagining I was an angel running amongst the clouds, filled with energy as if the close air enveloped me with some new and everlasting oxygen.
The fog still calls to me and I still go half expecting to find another world.
I left the office after six today and walked straight down University, then Lower Simcoe to the Harbourfront to get home. As soon as I get down to Queens Quay, the smell of the lake is pervasive. Not surprising, mist was heavy and floating over the harbour and onto the land – really beautiful.