Misty Mornings

Early mornings were always my favourite time in the village.

There were no alarms, only the sound of roosters calling across the valley and the scattered footsteps of people setting off to work in the fields.

By the time I stepped outside, the village was often hidden beneath a blanket of mist. The cool mountain air, the smoke rising from cooking fires, and the slow start to the day made it my favourite time to wander with a camera.

Before long, the sun would burn through the clouds and the village would come to life.

But for a little while each morning, it felt like the mountains belonged only to those who had woken up early.