I Haven't The Foggiest....

I haven't the foggiest idea why, but  there's a crazy old man around here who always goes out for a walk when it's a foggy morning.

He tramps through the village with a camera swinging from his shoulder till he gets to the most muddy and waterlogged bit of land he can find, then tries to take photos. In a bog, in the fog.

Not all madmen seek power in high office; some are content to seek out quietness and solitude, both of which are enhanced by early mornings and misty weather. Even the sounds which can be heard - the drip of dew from the leaves, the swish of boots through the grass and the call of unseen geese - only serve to emphasise the stillness.

Cattle stare in bewilderment as I pass by, before resuming their thoughtful rumination. A human: first one of them we've seen today.

 

The hushed colours in the lane are so different from the vivid reds and golds that we've seen on sunnier days this autumn.

Some trees stretch their leafy twigs up to the sky, even though this is the season of leaf fall and hibernation.

Passing by the old churchyard.

The seasonal pond is full after the recent rains and there are a few sheep in this field.

I'm always attracted to the old hawthorn stumps left in the wet meadow. This area is managed as a nature reserve as grasslands like this are a rare habitat around here; so much of the land has been drained.

There are clearly plenty of spiders in the hedgerows, their webs being revealed by the dew, though they are presumably present all year.

I get home and end my walk just as the sun is breaking through. It takes all sorts.

Take care.