The plain's fog had settled this morning, bejeweling every blade of the cropped sward with the maximum quantity of liquid, determined by angle of contact, surface tension and gravity. The lightest brush of hoof or tyre on the verges trickles water into the limpid pools holding yesterday's ample rainfall across the heaths. Streaming sun would soon recreate the earlier mists here.
Lower down, back in woodland, mist still clung. Driving gave the impression of rushing toward an unfinished horizon which was rapidly completed and rendered as the front bumper pushed into the scenery. Here the sun caused a glow with some sense of its source, but no power over shadows.
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