I woke to the sound of fog horns this morning and looked out to see a wall of mist obscuring the view to Southampton, spilling on to the pier and funnelling through the trees in the Grove Gardens. The tide was in, the water a silent silver, a pair of swans gliding towards the foreshore, two great crested grebes fishing in the bay, disappearing for minutes at a time and emerging like phantoms from the deep; it was a magical scene.
I love this time of year and I love a damp misty day; I love looking out at it, I love being out in it, I love the way it feels and I love the way it makes me feel; I feel happy, comforted, content and at one with the world. I mention this because yesterday was also a damp misty day and a trip to the village and a morning nod to a neighbour elicited a "miserable day isn't it" from her. I wanted to disagree, I wanted to wax lyrical about the beauty of it, I wanted to turn cartwheels to show her how good it made me feel, but I didn't, because that's not what's required, I just nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile. But I was irritated, I wanted to explain it to her, I wanted her to see the beauty of it, I wanted her to understand how I felt. And that's probably why I'm writing it here, sharing it and hoping someone else feels the same way too.
No pictures of the misty day but a link to the lovely grebes.
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