of the mist

These three are just a handful of the pictures I took around our house this past Sunday (I took at least sixteen more, but they sucked). Mist has always been something that's just made me stop in my tracks and observe; I feel pulled, as if it were, into the mist, and I want the mist to wrap around me like a cloak, and I want to feel its moisture on its cheeks and be lost in a sea of trees masked and mourning in the cold haze. My fascination with mist isn't just because of Stephen King's short story, or because it's part of the title of a Led Zeppelin song, or even because it's an indelible attribute of the infamous mountain range in Middle-Earth. (Yes, I'm still on that.) I've just always loved the eeriness, the mystery, the borderline fantasy of the Mist (and I mean "fantasy" in the classical sense, not in the way you think). 

Since Sunday we've had another day of mist and rain, and each day I'm taken back to Ketchikan, Alaska. The mist on the mountains, the cold drizzle, the rain-forest stretching over the mountain's hides and bald eagles flying over orcas in the bay. You tell me what's wrong with that picture? Nothing. Mist is a staple of Interior Passage living, and maybe that's part of what draws me there; but regardless, the Inside Passage would be one hell of a great place to live.

And, yes, I know the pictures above are staggered. That means, Ams, that they're not in symmetry. That's something I goofed in the HTML, and seeing as I don't have the knowledge--nor the care--to fix the problem, they'll remain staggered.