Morning

A swan glided out the mist as if a ghost, illuminated by the first rays of the morning light serenity made real, cool grey blanket covers the landscape deadening sounds so only the gentle splashing of the river as it spills over pebble and through reed-bed can be heard.
In the distance trees look black as if frozen, made of granite; the standing stones of nature. Below a heard of cow wait, sleeping until the warmth of the day returns. Though this scene she glides.
In the distance a lone fisherman walks across the field towards the waterline though the swirling mists he fades in and out of vision, ethereal.
The swan startled by this leaves the river and fly off breaking the peace of the morning, wings thrash and water splashes up though the mist she flies gaining height, powerful wings beating down.

Suddenly she breaks though mist, from seeing nothing but grey monochrome the world is full of colour.
Below the landscape looks covered in cotton-wool but, above the sun now bright shines in a cloudless azure sky.
Hills and building burst though the mists into the clear looking like islands and rocky shoals, the warmth of sun on her back brings a deep longing for home, the north, tundra and midnight sun. Decision made she turns north, below in the world of grey the only sign of her passage is her wingbeats as travels on back to her homeland.