Add together these ingredients: the New England seacoast, still with some remnants of a snowstorm (snow piles) and cold weather (ice on standing water), overtaken by warm, wet air. The result: a fog so thick, so pervasive, it's a living, breathing, sentient being. No little cats' feet here!
Hazard Rd. and Gooseneck Cove
Cliff Walk
And that's a Winter fog in coastal New England.
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Comments: 24
These were lovely shots, Roy. I am so glad you're sharing them.
We've had a mountain of rain land on us in the last couple of days. All is wet, and the geese are happy as larks! (((smiles...)))
Blessed be, may great and healthy walks mark your days, and may your camera, and your "eye" share them with us.
Wilka
I looked at your pictures and could feel (and taste!) the icy/cool air as I inhaled the fog into my lungs.
If one has never experienced that, they are lacking in life experiences.
Bravo!
I liked the last photos in each set best.
Natalie, thanks for the feature!
Doyle, I don't order it up. I just race out the door when I see it happening!
I like to use the work of gather photographers in my articles. These images are so beautiful and evocative that I might ask your permission to do this some day.
Here's another fog poem:
In the Fog
by Giovanni Pascoli
I stared into the valley: it was gone—
wholly submerged! A vast flat sea remained,
gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one.
And here and there I noticed, when I strained,
the alien clamoring of small, wild voices:
birds that had lost their way in that vain land.
And high above, the skeletons of beeches,
as if suspended, and the reveries
of ruins and of the hermit’s hidden reaches.
And a dog yelped and yelped, as if in fear,
I knew not where nor why. Perhaps he heard
strange footsteps, neither far away nor near—
echoing footsteps, neither slow nor quick,
alternating, eternal. Down I stared,
but I saw nothing, no one, looking back.
The reveries of ruins asked: “Will no
one come?” The skeletons of trees inquired:
“And who are you, forever on the go?”
I may have seen a shadow then, an errant
shadow, bearing a bundle on its head.
I saw—and no more saw, in the same instant.
All I could hear were the uneasy screeches
of the lost birds, the yelping of the stray,
and, on that sea that lacked both waves and beaches,
the footsteps, neither near nor far away.
I just love fog (of which there is plenty in Marin County, CA, where I grew up)
and you took great photos!