haze

As I type this, smoky air from the Sierra Nevada mountains is pouring into San Francisco, casting a deep orange haze across the city, as well as much of the American west.

Look closely and you can see that the haze is divided into dozens of layers.

Within days, the haze caught a westerly wind, casting fine particles through the air as far as El Cajon.

The music, the lights, the haze of smoke and the scent of food were depressing.

There was a haze over everything, but yet there was an enlightenment even in the haze.

The fence begins to melt as if in a haze and the logic of clearing this vast expanse of earth and rock escapes him.

Over the whole scene hung the haze of twilight that is so peaceful.

It vanished in the haze above the monster swamp, going in a straight line for the golden city at the worlds edge.

Acid fumes escaping under the vat lids made the haze and seared the man's throat.

The pretty town is waking in the haze of the river, the waters hurry over their clean stones.