This is not from the white mist day, but this one.
I'm missing my camera today...pretty sure I left it at work taking pictures of other people's children...that sounded unfortunate, but it was meant as purely fact.
But I so want to tell you about the day we are having here:
Today there is a white mist surrounding all of my junipers. It is the type of white mist that seems to form in the near distance, it doesn't roll like a fog. The whiteness lingers at the periphery, like a rainbow; the more you press on toward it, the more it moves on ahead of you.
You are never in the mist, only gazing at it like a star whose brightness you may see from the edges of your eyes.
The rain comes down as if spontaneously emerging from the air...hidden atom-pockets of rain, waiting for me to run into them as I walk. Clinging to my eyelashes and collecting on my hair to curl it.
The mist tells me to read, to drink hazelnut creamer in my coffee, to make the largest pot of soup and then drink it out of a mug. It tells me that I am gaining, and I love that feeling.