We've pinched this title from a Nick Harkaway novel that this morning's walk reminded us of. Fog came down on the moors above River View Pateley, and white swallowed the sky, the vistas and anything more than 50 feet away.
The space that was left held its own eerie beauty. Hearing the calls of birds in the heather contrasted with the sharp flutter of their wings was its own reward. It also gave time to notice the details, like the tiny water droplets in the trees and the groundwater and the interplay of gold, green and grey along a tree lined path.
Recent snows had left behind a cascade of water all the way down the path, so that it was more like walking through a stream. We got back to the car sodden and filthy but full of fresh air.
When we got back to the holiday cottage, cleaning out the chickens had never felt so domesticated, despite the stiff winds and driving light rain. It was the kind of morning to make you feel blessed you could touch the wilder places in Yorkshire and still come home to comfort at the end.
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