Fence, mound and wall, all show a vague image in the mist. Light blue mist rises from the lake, bringing the rich intoxicating scent of white orchids.
The mist is an accumulation of joy, an accumulation of excitement, an accumulation of hope.
The mist thickens like milk, caging all things, masking all things. Everything slows down in the indistinct street, like a fairyland.
The headlights of a car seem to emplace a pair of orange flowers in the mist.
The mist is delicate. Water, woods, grass, houses, people seem to be floating, in wonderland, in a maze.
The mist veiling humongous buildings, and the distant peaks, it seems to be hiding a huge secret.