When the fog finally lifted the world looked different. Perhaps it was the way in which the land emerged, slowly divesting itself of the cloak it had been wearing. Because it happened in slow motion, you were forced to focus on one thing at a time: a church spire, or the tops of the trees down by the river. It was only then that you realised you had never looked at the trees properly, the way the branches fanned, or how the leaves moved with the smallest puff of wind. Fog, it seems, gives us something to be grateful for…
2nd April, 2017 – 100 words
Ian Gouge - Writer 