The ground was so far below him, he could barely make it out through the grey mists that whirled around him, but he could feel how fast he was falling, and he knew what was waiting for him down there. Even in dreams, you could not fall forever. He would wake up in the instant before he hit the ground, he knew. You always woke in the instant before you hit the ground.
—George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
Misty Dawn
© twistedhaloproductions with CCLicense
Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern.
―Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
In life, a person will come and go from many homes. We may leave a house, a town, a room, but that does not mean those places leave us. Once entered, we never entirely depart the homes we make for ourselves in the world. They follow us, like shadows, until we come upon them again, waiting for us in the mist.
The October Country
© Ray Wewerka with CCLicense
…that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…
―Ray Bradbury, Epitaph to The October Country
Prituri sa planinata
The mountain has collapsed
And captured two shepherds.
Two shepherds, two friends.
The first shepherd begs her:
“I have a wife who will weep over me.”
The second shepherd begs her:
“I have mother who will weep over me.”
The mountain replies:
“Oh, you shepherds,
A wife grieves from morning till noon but a mother grieves until death!”
The mountain has collapsed
And captured two shepherds.
Photographer and filmmaker Bart van der Gaag shot this footage on an autumn morning by lake Fjällnora near Uppsala, Sweden. Evocative and misty shots shimmer to the haunting strains of Prituri sa planinata, a Thracian Bulgarian folk melody sung by the late singer Stefka Sabotinova. Breathtaking!