The day had started gloomy and gray, with waterfalls of fog spilling over the distant mountaintops, veiling the slow sunrise over Lake Windermere. With patience and brushes of wind, the mist slowly dissipated, uncovering the English mountain range, peak by peak, each glimpse more dulcet than the last. As I made my way down from the summit, I stopped to capture the quiet breaths of nature all around me. Still hillsides dappled with the lingering mist and familiar morning chill — a portrait of the perfect morning, a memory, framed in a moss-covered stone wall.