General

The fog comes as natures gentle hand to once more give nature a chance to return into view after her graceful repose.

General

There are days the world comes to full colour from the night, from the greys under the moon to every colour of the rainbow and more. Today we have the fog, and so as it warms up the world will be born from this whiteness, as if it were art appearing on a three dimensional canvass.

General

The fog comes as softest white to embrace all, to make it a cocoon until the heat returns and the colours of nature are ready to flutter once more.

General

When the world becomes a new brilliant white page, as if nine clouds had kissed the earth, the fog only awaits the sun to unveil the scene upon its own perfect timing.

General

Today the clouds sit upon the earth, as if they decided the heavens were down here instead. So I walk on the grass, flying as high as the birds, seeing only white.

General

The trees are veiled in the lightest of mists, their trunks sombre brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As my eye travels to the edge of the woodland they become silhouettes against a blanket of white, as if it is only daylight where I stand, as if I am encircled by twilight.

General

In the fog the city is blurred like an old painting; it could be a great work drawn by expert hand. The buildings and the Japanese cherry trees are silhouetted black, two-dimensional. The streets yawn in every direction with only the old newspaper dispensers and street-lamps to break the view between buildings so high that the tops disappear in the swirling white. It doesn't smell right at all, in fact it smells of nothing but the damp trees not yet in bloom. Without the fumes of the traffic its odour is as fresh as any meadow without tincture of grass. Jenna's footsteps echoed like stones off a cave wall. She wanted to melt onto the darkness but what was the point? This place had been abandoned long ago, other than the odd roosting birds, she had the only beating heart in many square miles of concrete.