JUL-THU-21 [a shallow memory stream]

A while ago a thick mist came and lay upon a cold snow bed. As it gently caressed every surface, it spoke with an indefinable rolling breath, mumbled into the vague distance.
I took the opportunity to capture the evasive light and hastily stuffed an old rusted and dusty contessa-nettal cocarette with a dying roll of ilford delta 100; an attempt to retain some minuscule remnant of that beautiful greying haze.