My name is Misty

I never knew Winter could be this hauntingly beautiful. When I opened my eyes on Tuesday morning, there was a soft grey mist hovering in the atmosphere. She washed away the colour of the sky and buildings. I stuck myself out of the window into the cold in just my pyjamas to take some shots and make contact. Almost immediately, I started to breath white smog from out of my nose like a car exhaust. I didn't even have to exert any pressure or do my dragon puffs. That morning, I took out my long winter jacket. After asking around for so long about his arrival. He had finally come. Winter.

In the Park , a thin layer of white frost speckled the grass. The delicate mist danced around the trees. There was almost no one inside the park with the exception of the occasional runner emerging like a ghost from out of the mist or a dog and its owner.

The mist has been persistent but friendly and its visibility varies throughout the day. It looks softer then the Sumatra haze in Asia and luckily doesn't smell anything like it. You can see it, even in the night in the shadow of the street lights, but you can't touch it or hold it in your hand. It is mildly disruptive yet dainty and mysteriously evasive.

If I were to ever be a natural phenomenon, I would definitely like to be the Mist. A Thunderstorm would come a close second only for my name sake, but a mist is definitely way more breathtaking.

On Player_'Purple Rose Minuet'_By Susumu Yokota