The fog hung thick over the empty fields. There was little to differentiate where the green met with the grey, they seemed to blur together like some sort of fluid organism, the misty memories dancing in between the ferns. 

Soon it would rain, they had been waiting for some time. The mist always came first, a forewarning that the heavens would soon burst beneath the weight of it all and that the summer was over. 

They watched perched upon their porches, looking out on the great expanse. 

It was ever so beautiful, quiet and still.