Fog weighed down on us. A Kish Cloud, chill, heavy and condensing on my clothes. Across to The Obelisk, hill one today, the cloud rolled in from the east, swirling along the valleys and brushing through the tops of candle-lit chestnut trees, standing in eerie silence. I commented to a couple of ghostly walkers that it was like being in a cold rain forest.
Down on White Rock strand, the beach appeared curiously detached from the main body of the Irish Sea, the grey fog merging into the the equally grey sea just a few metres offshore. Windless, air movement apparent as transient wisps. Almost no bird song nor gull cry, the only sound being the unseen eight-carraiged commuter trains and the lapping waters of the ebb tide. Do gannets and terns 'fish' in fog or is that like trying to hear the sound of one hand clapping?
