My Fog

I was looking for an old photo to show my wife when a peculiar image appeared. Little light, plenty of artefacts from the primitive smartphone camera of sixteen years ago, something extremely blurred within an indistinct dark grey blanket. I recognised it. I smiled. It was exactly as I had intended it, when I took it. My fog. I was born in a place where fog was an extremely rare phenomenon, and I have lived for many years now in an area where fog is a constant for much of the year. Or perhaps I should say it was, because in recent years things have changed here too. The first few times, it frightened me. At the wheel, it worried me. But when I wasn't driving, I welcomed it with affection, my fog. That day I was confused. Saddened, unable to truly make sense of things. I decided to go out on foot, well wrapped up, and I ventured out. A few metres from home, I stopped seeing the buildings. The sounds are different too, when I walk through my fog. Muffled and distant, and the pressure of…