Horses of the Mist


We were up just as the sun was peeking over the hill in back of the beach. The moon was in the far west, had lost its whiteness and turned again to orange. The birds were in full song, and a flock of loons chased each other madly across the river mouth, and there they were, the mists, the galloping white horses of all river mouths in the north beginning their run toward the open range of the lake.

–Sigurd F. Olson, Listening Point, Alfred A. Knopf, 1979

Canoe on Misty Morning Lake

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