Waves of haar rolled in on the witching wind. Evening birdsong died away. For the first time ever he dared take her hand and she held his tighter than he had ever hoped. In silence they stood and walked away, glad of the quiet mist. Tomorrow the sun would shine.
Yesterday winter held below the horizon
Chill dawn hears silent locks unlocking
Misted wraiths stealthy gyre at daybreak
Winter rises from hard fields
She breathed in the hillside mist and the mist became myth and, as she exhaled, once-untrue stories became.