As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of silver and grey, the first tendrils of mist begin to gather high in the mountains. Slowly and mysteriously, they unfurl like delicate whispers, winding their way downward with an ethereal grace. The mist caresses the trees as it descends, brushing each branch and leaf with the gentleness of a mother’s hand smoothing the tousled hair of her child.
With a quiet, dusky sigh, the mist rolls into the valley, its movement both tender and inevitable. It spreads across the landscape, wrapping the island in a soft, comforting blanket of white. The world feels hushed, as though nature herself is whispering a lullaby to the land, inviting stillness and peace.
Fraser.Art 