A Misty Walk

 

The snow of two nights ago was followed by hours and hours of heavy rain all through yesterday and into the night and this morning. As the rain subsided into showers and drizzle the clouds descended, wrapping the world in soft wetness. Having not ventured out into the downpour yesterday I wanted a walk, though I suspected it would be just a brief slosh through the sodden tracks and fields staring at insubstantial trees as they loomed up in the thick air before hurrying back to the warmth of the fire.

There was no wind and the mist was dense and motionless but as I dropped a little lower I came to its ragged edge. An indistinct view opened up, unreal woods threaded with misty bands. This is familiar country. I am here most days. But in the mist it seemed new and mysterious. Aspects of the landscape I'd never really noticed before were now dominant.

Just once the clouds lifted a touch and a little colour appeared - the yellow of fading grasses, the green of trees, hints of blue in the sky. Briefly, a snow-spattered hill emerged. Then the mist closed in again, denser than ever.

Gazing over Strathspey towards the hidden Cromdale Hills I marvelled at the strangeness of this place I though I knew so well.

Mist changes the world. My walk had become magical.