A bank of fog hovers at the edge of vision, rolling shorewards. The tide is fully in this lunchtime. A flotilla of gulls rest on the edge of the sea, bobbling gently up and down with the waves. A lone bird sits on an isolated rock, watching the world go by. Oyster-catchers nose through the pile of seaweed. Up on the tide-line, dunlins chatter quietly to each other. Perched on a boulder, I turn my face to the sun and bask in its gentle warmth.
I wake to stars still shining above me. Night blue sky gradually lightens with the coming dawn. The tide-line is invisible, hidden by a sea of mist. The headlands seems layered behind each other, timidly peeking out from foggy skirts. Trails of low cloud dance around me. I scramble across rocks damp from the sea-haar, avoiding the bright-green seaweed that tangles underfoot. The world is fast disappearing under the blanket of white. Walking through the edge of the incoming waves, I am surrounded by muffled sounds. A seagull launches himself into the sky, disappearing into obscurity. Slowly the sun shines through, brightening the gloom. The veil lifts – light is revealed.
N.B Haar is a word used for sea mist or sea fog. It’s used in the midlands and north of England and in Scotland.
The bright light shone through the curtains, waking me from sleep. Curious, I rose and peeked out. Silver lit the scene. Patches of fog snuggled in the vegetable patch, bedded down for the night. The moon stretched out her fingers, reaching down to the earth. Mist rose to bow to his love, and the moonbeams sailed down, rising and falling in stately dance. The rising wind eddied the pair into a wild jig. Sitting on the window sill, I watched entranced. Protective clouds gathered around the moon as she traced glowing paths across the garden. Slowly she waved her goodbyes, leaving me to my rest.