Photography - HOWL Collective

Words - Patrick O'Brien

Creative Direction & Retouch - Jim Lind

The brisk autumn air fathers the mist rising from the warm waters of the lake beneath my boat. It consumes me. Engulfs my sight, hugging me like a blanket as my silver tin vessel slices through the surf. With each push of the oars I can hear the twisting of metal, the wood slapping against the water, and the drips toiling at the surface as I pull them back through the air. I push on. Through the wet morning dew, heading towards the ripe trees splashed with golden colors. Vibrant colors or red, yellow, burnt orange, yet on this blue morning diluted through the fog, are no more than a distant haze.