There are two kinds of misty mornings: fog, which lasts, and mist, which is quickly burned off by the sun.

This morning, we had the fog, which is my favorite.  I used to run outside naked to catch the mist before it burned off; now, I use a bathrobe. The Amish go by in their cards early in the morning; their daughters go shopping; they don’t need to see me naked. Nobody does, not at that hour.

The farm is soft and gentle; even Maria’s daily manure shovels out of the barn.

I love taking pictures in the mist; everything stands out, and the farm feels especially sweet and beautiful. For those of you who can’t be here, a Photo Journal,  I hope you like it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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