A June Morning, Soft and Green

We've been going through a damp, green phase here, which is pretty typical for early June in Pennsylvania. It may have rained again overnight, and I awoke to find a heavy fog mist had settled over everything, transforming the everyday into a land of mystery and magic.

There is nothing I would rather do when it's foggy than head out with my camera in hand. But of course, I was on my way to work, and so I could only make a quick stop or two. And my very first stop was at this little pond that I like so well.

It was misty when I got there, actually starting to drizzle a tiny bit, but somehow not enough to really get my camera wet. Spider webs bedecked with dew were strung everywhere like silken strands of diamonds, the results of several arachnids' overnight labors. Wild yellow iris lined the pond's edge. The boat was out of the water resting on its side. A red-winged blackbird flew by; another, smaller, bird was dipping and diving over the water. On the hill above, cows contentedly chewed their morning grass.

The thing that you may not know about heavy fog unless you've experienced it firsthand is how quiet it makes everything. All of the ambient sounds are muted. So the scene was hushed and still, with sound and time seemingly suspended, over a gentle landscape so soft and green like it is no other time of year but this.

The song to accompany this tranquil June view is more about what you hear (or more likely, what you don't hear) than about what you see. It's a classic rock tune from the late 1960s: Deep Purple, with Hush.

Bonus: a link to the same scene - wearing golden brown rather than green - in late November.