After a rainstorm early one evening, the light changed, and showed the meadows in a whole new way.
The wildflowers all weighed heavily with water, each droplet catching the last rays of the sun. The birds were chirping, the light was incredible, and the soft colors of the meadow became soothing. It was easy to be caught up just listening and observing, with admiration for how incredible meadows can be. After sitting there for what seemed like a long time, I realized it was about to get better.
The fog started to approach in the distance, slowly rolling closer until it began to first engulf and then surround me.
The soft blue haze was calming. It was changing plants from living things to groves of foreign silhouettes,
and colors that are normally washed out by the strong midday sun, turned to soft pastel shades of grays, purples, greens and blues, only highlighted by diamond flecks of water.
Like a child, I was lost in a world of fantasy,
quiet except for the occasional bird, and the shrieking noises of a horse a few fields away.
A line of trees took on the form of a tribe of tall quiet giants.