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Word: misting (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...anyone who has spent a night in Headwaters Grove, awakening at dawn to hear the cries of marbled murrelets, the endangered seabirds that nest in the huge trees, and to watch the great trunks take form in the lightening mist, the idea of owning such a place is daft. But, yes, if the Deal goes through, Maxxam won't own Headwaters. Won't cut it. And California will have a beautiful new tree museum...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: California: The Redwoods Weep | 9/28/1998 | See Source »

This drumming ancestral cadence, after building slowly in Ricci's two earlier, related novels (including the prize-winning The Book of Saints), comes to a mist-wreathed climax in Where She Has Gone (Picador USA; 325 pages; $25). Here the sins of the Old World seep across the New as blood across a sheet. Vittorio Innocente--the name itself doesn't travel light--lives unanchored in a Toronto of immigrants, with nothing, as he says, but his freedom. Driving around town in his late father's Oldsmobile, he cannot slough off his mother's infidelity and the out-of-wedlock...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Sins Of The Old World | 8/10/1998 | See Source »

...Edwards, an Australian who staged a first-rate London revival of Jesus Christ Superstar in 1996, has put together a smooth, unshowy production, which combines functionality (a slab of concrete rises and lowers to create a two-tiered set) and lovely images (two teenagers riding a motorcycle in the mist against a deep-blue, storybook night sky). If the musical fails to capture the film's gentle ironies, it adds some intriguing sexual tension between the stranger (a charismatic Marcus Lovett) and the chief child (Lottie Mayor, several years older than Hayley Mills in the film...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Theater: Andrew Lloyd Webber: Whistle A Happy Tune | 7/27/1998 | See Source »

High over the winding Eel River, wooded hills stretch to the Pacific Ocean. The mist rolls in, blanketing the valley below. On the forest floor, a tiny white butterfly alights on a fiddlehead fern. And from the canopy of a giant redwood, a voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. "I'm running out of power," it says, with a note of urgency. "Can you send up another cell-phone battery...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Julia Hill, Butterfly: Five Months At 180 Ft. | 5/11/1998 | See Source »

...When it's seven in the morning and you're on alake watching the mist rise, you get a sense ofperspective," Myers says. "It breaks up the rhythmof daily life and clears up the mind. It's a greatescape...

Author: By Richard S. Lee, CONTRIBUTING WRITER | Title: CAMPUS IN THE ROUGH | 5/1/1998 | See Source »

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