overnight an impenetrable winter fog had blanketed my mountain lake, obscuring everything except the very edge of the lake, perhaps ten feet of water. The grass was frosted over hard, leaving not a hint of green. In fact, everything before me was some shade of white or gray: frosted grass, a solid white wall of fog, and a thin strip of silvery water. The white out was complete, the fog curtain blocked everything.
The utterly still, gray-and-white panorama lulled me quickly into fantasy. Perhaps I wasn’t living on a little mountain lake at all, but on a great ocean. Just beyond the fog was a grand vista of sailing ships and a tree-lined harbor.
But as I began to elaborate on my time-killing fantasy, the perfectly frozen tableau inexplicably began to change. The solid, flat wall of fog began to balloon out in two areas near the water level. The fog wall bulged out, getting bigger and bigger with no clue about the cause.
Finally, the pregnant fog spheres burst open to reveal pristine white swans: the first I had ever seen on the lake. The swans glided by, not even disturbing the surface water and producing an elegant tableau in white and silver. A moment later, they disappeared--leaving behind nothing but the fog wall and the secrets it guarded.
But wait--were they royal swans? Was my lake a feature of castle gardens? My fantasy took over once more.
How fun to see. You've certainly had a variety of experiences on your little lake. Thank you for sharing them!
ReplyDeleteYou sound exactly like a writer. I wonder if Marion Zimmer Bradley had a similar experience that prompted her to write The Mists of Avalon.
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