At one end of the valley, far in the distance, a waterfall pours off the top of a ridge, 
falling nearly halfway to the bottom before losing itself in the trees.  
Dozens of water buffalo graze near the streams and ponds.  
The fog and clouds roll and tumble and slide up and down the mountains all day long…never 
remaining stationary for more than an hour.  Suddenly half of the entire valley is invisible in misty white; 
an hour later only little puffs float among the hills.  Over there, a long skinny finger of fog flows down 
a narrow valley, finally wrapping around one of the hamlets and then curling itself into a ball and floating away.


                                                                                                                                             Copyright 2007 © Loyd Little