Quiet time.

The fog hung low all day, still and thick. This morning the trail was almost deserted – one squirrel, one dog and its human. Aside from two lonely-looking ducks, I saw no other birds – and this place is usually teeming with them – so the air was strangely silent. Peaceful, but melancholy. The treeline across the pond stood shrouded in mist, faraway and dream-like.

I’ve never really tried to shoot photos in the fog, but here I had my chance.

I discovered this: it’s hard. My shots are grey, flat and washed-out, the subjects just shapeless blobs of darker grey.

I tried to pick a few that captured the ambience, but to me, these just don’t quite represent the surreal, pensive mood of the time and place.

Good night, all. Thanks, as always, for visiting.


A path into the mist.



The semi-frozen pond.



Hockey-loving folks have set up a rink on the pond, as they do every year, but with the mild temperatures no one will be venturing out there this week. The benches and equipment sit, deserted, in the haze.


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