I live a few hundred yards up a hill from a marshy river bottom where fog often clings to the ground and hides from the sun under bushes or around reed clumps. Some mornings, fog rolls up the hill, coiling tentacles in the lead, daring the sun to stop it. It doesn't always make it all the way up here, but I can often look down and watch it writhing about. Your beautiful photos reminded me a little of how that makes me feel.