Once imbued with mystery, mist and fog have long fuelled folk tales and legends, turning small lakes into a stage for phantasmagorical beliefs.
Far from this disturbing vision, mist is synonymous with soft and poetic atmospheres for me. A transition between night and dawn, dreams and reality, whatever the subject that emerges from it, it fuels an unreal, dreamlike vision of wildlife.
In the wake of this soft vapour, between lights and shadows, it hovers above wetlands like a veil that enhances the lines that it embraces. At the crack of dawn, it lulls us into a silky atmosphere where suggestive shapes emerge from the silvery plumes.
As the dawn progresses, it lifts, chased by the heat of the sun lying low on the horizon. As the light breaks through the millions of droplets of vapour, they are set ablaze like a bonfire before disappearing as if by magic.
A poetic bubble as a testimony of the wild beauty that nature offers us in its most fragile and ephemeral form.
A plea for it to remain, for a long time to come, a source of wonder.