Fog

The first day of my final week of writing. Daftie and I were up as usual at 5.45 am, and out into fog and a hard frost. It was a change from the rain that has never stopped since I started the book. As we climbed the hill in the dark, we emerged from the fog into a clear, dark early morning. I was wearing my headlight to light the way, and looking back down towards the village I saw trees silhouetted in the mist against the street lights on the main road, the frosty foreground lit by my LED. Blip, I thought, and fumbled for my phone. This was the result.