When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
And in the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
(Old English folk song, circa 1815)
Now I'm no fair young maid for sure, but there isn't a bachelor on earth who could keep me from the foggy, foggy dew. Those foggy morning walks with Shiloh are some of my favourites - like walking while cocooned in a cotton puff, noises muffled, peaceful solitude, beautiful photo ops as the rising sun tries its hardest to shine through the mists. I can stand on the shore gazing through my camera's lens for hours. As much as I love crisp sunny mornings, I think I love the foggy ones even more. These shots are from this morning's walk:
|Fog lifting on Maple Mountain|
|"What's she babbling on about?"|
"I dunno - just ignore her! "