Every once and awhile, our homestead is visited by a churning, swirling blanket of fog. Sometimes I can see it rolling in over the mountains to the West; other times, it seems to emanate from our land itself. The mist moves quickly, settling into low spots and gullies, obscuring glades and hollows with its muted whiteness. On these mornings, I drop everything and head outside, camera at the ready.

With our homestead cloaked in fog, and the glaring morning sun diffused, my everyday surroundings seem altered, magical, as if this is some alternate, parallel universe I'm just now able to glimpse. And I, in turn, feel like a woman from a fairy tale, drawn deeper and deeper into the woods. How rad would it be if I stepped into another world, another time?

My photoshoot and woods walk don't last long. My fantastical reveries soon come to an abrupt halt when the mist departs, or gets burned off in the strengthening sun. Life returns to normal, and our buildings and woods have regained their lovely but decidedly un-magical state of being. Time, now, for the day to begin.