The cloud bank above the lake this morning was dark and almost slate blue, looking more like rain than clouds tends to in winter.
The sky above it was light, non-descript in comparison, as it can be at the start of these still-short days. Below, the water was silvery, a Fae color.
And between the pale water and the dark clouds, sea smoke lifted in whisps so substantial I could see them on the horizon line. They looked like ghosts rising (gently), like old, slow spirits resurrecting from water so deep it rarely freezes.
How does something so cold steam? Only when the air, austere and Januarial, is colder still.