The 6am sunrise shined brightly through the East-facing picture window of the living area. I rise quickly from the camp cot as the light gleams through my eye lids. I snatch my camera bag and dash out into the field with the sight of fog. Overnight temperatures dropped low. Low-lying fog rolls over the tips of the pines and down the other side. Limiting visibility, the grey mass seemingly sticks to the tops of the wheat fields.
The overgrown paths are wet from morning dew and soak through my moccasins. My favorite Filson tin cloth pants, however, remain dry to the touch. My chocolate lab looks as though he took an early morning swim. Running through these damp fields always saturates his coat.
The birds begin to sing and the rest of the forest rouses from its evening slumber as we conclude our walk. Nothing wakens a man and brings him to his full senses like a walk in the woods. Truly a one-of-a-kind experience – even if the same path is trod often.
Fog rolls over the forest.
My buddy, Casco.
My favorite Woolrich plaid and Filson khaki's.
Golden sun shining between the tall trees.
An old worn path.
Close-up and personal.
A peaceful land hangs out under the fog.
Dew hangs symetrically from the spiderweb.