There is something magical about mist. It's like wrapping a present in pretty tissue paper, instead of a paper bag. Or newspaper. Or a towel, for that matter ( yes, based on a real incident). Mist is different than fog, in that fog is h***bent on hiding everything. It becomes an annoying game of hide-and-seek; trying to find the car in front of you before it's too late, searching for a road sign, wondering if you really know that guy you waved back to or if you just made a creep's day. Fog is worrisome, and seems to enjoy being that way.
But mist. Ah, mist is indeed magical. Instead of hiding the world, mist takes delight in revealing it, gently bestowing enchantment on the most ordinary, mundane things. As it clings low upon the grass, you can't help but look for tiny faeries asleep in their misty beds. And when mist tiptoes over the water, your childish fantasy that mermaids do exist returns. Somehow it lifts our tiresome grown-up concerns and whisks us - if only momentarily - to Neverland, where none of us ever really grew up.