mountains
Valleys, Filled to the Brim
Some mornings a valley wakes up as a lake of cloud, and the hills become a coastline.
Temperature inversion is the driest possible name for one of the best things a landscape can do: cold air sinks overnight, carries the mist down with it, and by dawn the valley floor is a sea with hilltop islands. Whole villages sleep underneath, invisible, presumably dreaming of the view above them.
The photographs were all taken from that upper shore, in the hour before the sun burns the illusion off. Church spires and single trees pierce the surface — depth markers in the white.
These are perhaps the most patient images in the whole journal. The mist is not going anywhere for another hour, and neither, while looking at it, are you.
