Every evening a tumbling, frothy white waterfall cascadesover the mountains.Its thick, swirly, blanket settles among the trees, and oozesinto the valley.It keeps coming; soft, white and misty.It reaches its tendrils around each tree.You can see it creeping, crawling like it is sneaking upon someone.

As the sun sets, yellow rays shine through its top layerof mist.So bright are the sun’s last rays it drowns the mountain’s greenTill all you can see is the very outline.The sky darkens.Slowly, the froth pools in the valley and rests its head.One by one the stars come out, shining crispin the cold clear night.

The fingers of mist wake early and start retreating backover the mountains to the sea.Slowly the world wakes up.The sun shines its first blossoming rays towards the sky.The soft blanket slips back over the hills, hoping not to be seen.