Poor, Misunderstood Fog

by Lydia
A pre-schooler sits in the centre of the frame, looking to the side, holding hands with a baby who is laid to her right, and with one hand resting on a black dog which disappears out of the frame to the her left.

Well, spring has sprung. I had grand plans* to manage to do a handful of Things every day of this delicious season. Needless to say, the first hurdle was not cleared yesterday. Them’s the family breaks.

But it was a glorious day first thing for those precious moments when the rest of the house was peacefully sleeping. Then the fog rolled in, and then came the rain. Am I the only one who finds fog beautiful? At least, the fog that we get here, rolling in from the woods. People often (rightly) talk about delicate, gentle mist – but surely fog is just mist which has properly committed to the task in hand, and gone that step further?

*Not grand at all. Modest plans, hardly-anything-really plans. But, nevertheless, plans that my wonderful, marvellous little family still managed to send flying sidewards.

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