Mists of Time

I don't think the mists of the mors in Jane Eyre's England could have been more brooding and dampening as Germany Valley was that evening as Fred and I descended down the western face of North Mountain to return to our Cherry Grove retreat. There had been rain the night before, but it had cleared off and the sun was actually out and shining while we were in town tending to business of the day. But the clouds grew denser and deeper grey as we ascended the mountain, working our way up the serpentine road to the crest.
By the time we reached the top of the mountain, that puffy white cloud we had seen in Franklin had turned dark and broody with a cold whistle whipping at the windows of the car, buffeting us in the turns. The way down the west face was like parting the ice pack of the artic, except this was fog, dense, cold, and grey. About four serious turns down we were leaving the cloud bank behind, but discovered that the fog was covering the valley in waves. The layer of greyish white had laid itself down like a blanket and molded itself to the landscape. It conformed to the hills and hollows, with the far peaks reaching up out of the bank for a breath of air.
In the near scape, the mists would ebb and flow, lift and fall to reveal the farms nestled in the valley below. It was a game of peek-a-boo as one waited to see what was or was not there about the valley.  It made one want to look about for a fox to run through a thinning of fog with hounds baying at his heels and one of Bronte's character's dashing close behind on his charging steed.
We pulled off to the side of the road and got out for a moment to take in the scene and listen.  There was silence --- all sound absorbed by the fog above and below.  Suddenly the air was pierced with the call of one of the large eagles who nest in the area as he floated over us and down the wind currents into the valley with wings outspread.  
We finally gave into the cold and got back into the car to finish our journey home.  After a full year in this valley, we still have not been able to fathom the vast wonder that our Maker has created in these few acres we now call home.