South Bull Fog

Lola got her walk eventually, out onto the South Bull in the gradually lifting fog.

On the way, I had stopped to photograph these near-invisible figures on the beach.

As I walked out onto the Wall with Lola I became conscious of the dampness of the fog.

Fog, that makes of any day an Ash Wednesday, licked my face with its pin-drops: my ignorance made palpable. It licked the sea and the sea licked it back. What were those people on the beach doing apart from being apart, figures in fog? Had they a dog to walk? Out on the Wall there were standing fogbound fishermen. What was this wave, the wake of a passing ship?