The Gift of Fog

On Sunday evening I was on my way home from dropping my niece off when I came upon this scene.

I had to stop and take a photo as I rarely have the gift of seeing fog.  Perhaps because it is a rarity for me it always seems precious and special.

The city of York in England will always be entwined in my memories with the magical, mystical presence of fog.  It was January, incredibly cold and shrouded with thick, pea soup fog.  I walked down the shambles and felt like I'd inexplicably travelled back in time.  I remember dark coated figures materialising before us, becoming clearer and more whole with each step. It felt to me, perhaps fancifully, that the past and present all existed simultaneously in that time and place.

I took my photo then stood, savouring the moment as the light faded.  The air was blissfully cool after such a long hot summer.  I have passed this paddock surely a million times in my life and I opened myself to the memories it holds and the gift of fog.  I returned to the car, heartfilled and grateful for a life filled with such gifts.