Everything seems to be a bit muted this time of year in the Pacific Northwest. Rain, fog, bare trees, tanlines … you get the idea. So I thought this would be a good week to look at things through greyscale-tinted glasses.
The hill to the west of our little valley is often shrouded in whispy fog. I love it as the tendrils of mist weave around through the trees and pretty much blot out the signs of civilization. If you can ignore the sound of the freeway below, this is much as it may have looked 100 years or even 300 years ago here.