All through the night, the freighter sitting within a few hundred metres of my bedroom has been sounding its foghorn. This is a very loud foghorn. Luckily, I was tired enough that I slept through most of it, except for a few times in the night when I woke, wondered, recognized, and, reassured, fell back to sleep. After all, if you're stationary, and in a cozy warm spot, there's nothing threatening about fog. Rather the opposite, in fact, that muffling enveloping grey being something of an immense security blanket.
Still, comforting though that grey bank of humidity might be from the comfort of my bed, it can put more than a bit of a damper (sorry, pun not intended) on the mood in the daytime. So I thought I'd post some sunny-day photos from a few weeks ago, walking around the island.
This beautiful hand-wrought gate was built by a Hungarian refugee who landed on this wee island sometime after that big outpouring in the late 50s, as I understand the gossip/history. He moved along close to a decade ago (and there's another good story there, but not for sharing so widely, sorry). The property has changed hands, and for a while was kept up, but it seems to be reverting to the land piece by piece, yielding a different kind of beauty as it does.
And as its cycle moves in one direction, another neighbour is spinning the wheel in a more positive arc, creating another beautiful fence by hand. Isn't it magnificent in the afternoon fall sunshine?
Whoops! Just looked at the clock and I'd better run if I'm going to catch my ferry. Hope there's some sunshine in your day!