Touch of fog. . .

This is the viewshed primeval. 

I normally have a view of the hills of Hell’s Canyon. Today I had hoped to go to Walmart, but I called my friend who works there and she assured me that she could not see across the street from her house or across the Walmart parking lot a few rows. My aspiration of new towels was dashed, utterly and for hours, if today at all.

. . .and a half hour later

The sun higher, the fog seems to march its clouds into position.

Good morning

“The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of Heaven breaks;
The summer morn I’ve sighed for—the fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.” (“The sands of time are sinking,” Anne R. Cousins)