If you get some place with a straight line of visibility for a mile, the world turns white and airbrushed around the edges… this is a dense, fibrous white, like tightly packed bread mold. Summer has evidentally been left out on the counter too long, and it's time to throw it away before the whole bag starts to turn weird colors. Time to go pick up a loaf of fall, maybe with cinnamon. But no raisins. Not a fan of raisins.
(Having been kidnapped and beaten severely by her wayward metaphor, Ursula eventually escapes and crawls back to the keyboard to finish the post.)