Mist

Early morning vapors emulate a lady's veil, diaphanous, a softly shifting secrecy; inconstant as the tide and deathly pale, feathering the lake in fragile mystery. Minstrels scarce can sing with proper import of the dawning of the day in violet haze; e'er we hear the skylark, mother nature's joyous consort, and sunshine bathes the fields with warming rays. First light is fully-fledged, the veil is lifting, the surface shines, a vision sparkling bright; 'til day fades to dark, then the morn comes drifting, and mist sprawls like a spectre from the night.