Sharon watched as the mist rolled off of the grass, and tumbled down the hills in great armies of mist men that seemed to disintegrate when they hit the foot of the hill.
There was no sun. Only gray tinted clouds.

The morning was silent, and the only evident sounds were the small ones; rustles of leaves, the odd chirp of birds here and there.
Small pearls of dew hung heavily, almost lazily, from the tips of trembling leaves and grass blades, shimmering in the dim light of the steel-colored surroundings.

The air was pleasant to breathe – cool and refreshing.
Sharon could smell the rain coming; it was that heady, water – like smell that every place gets before a storm.
The sun peaked triumphantly through the clouds for a split moment, and then the heavens were cracked into two by a mighty fork of blue light.

The rain came thundering down, cold, chilling, and cleansing.
Sharon did not move from her spot, trying to lose her memories in the patter of the rain.

It was good to be forgotten once in a while.