White sails

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White sail, sailing, over the water.

Barely a breath to help you move.

White canvas, taut and stiff

Or billowing softly in the breeze.

Hot sun and morning mist,

A twinkle of ripples follow your wake.

Sails, tall and fair.

Sails standing out across the lake,

Bright against the wooded hill.

Your beacon shines to me.

Cat in fog

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A thick fog was hanging over the land, damp and white and still. We had been on a walk over bthe moors, my boots were sodden, my glasses had puddles in them. The tussock grass made for hard walking, trying to hop from tussock to tussock, often ending ankle deep in the murky water between the tussocks.

Now we had come to a stony path, but it wound up and down with no obvious way signs to show us where we were. Neither of us had a compass, and with this fog you could not tell East from West. The sun was invisible in the murk but it was getting colder and later. It must be five o’clock at least.

Suddenly we heard a mew, then another one. A cat appeared out of the billowing fog.

I leant down and stroked its ears, hello kitty I said, where’s home? Where did you come from?

The cat twitched it’s tail, and rubbed it’s head against my hand. It miaowed. Then it trotted off a little way, sat down and looked back towards us.

Shall we? he said, shall we follow it? What else can we do, we aren’t going to easily find our way back to the car.

By now the cat was standing and mewed again. Come on I said, before it disappears.

The cat started trotting off again, stopping and looking back every few yards. We followed, trying to keep it in sight through the mist and lowering light levels.

The cat left the path and jumped up onto a stile, dropping down the other side into the gloom. Well, we thought, let’s try.

Over a pasture and through a shallow stream, the cat jumping across stepping stones. Up a slight slope and into a patch of old oak trees.

Suddenly a wall loomed out of the thick fog. Spider webs wet with droplets of water.

A farm house, the cat walked to to the front door and scratched at it. Then it jumped up on a box and climbed in through an open window. We knocked on the front door and waited…..

 

 

In the grey

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It started with a fog that lingered, it did not burn off in the sunlight, in fact it got denser. The winds had dropped so there was nothing to blow it away. Looking out the window you could see drops of water clinging to the trees and bushes.

The weather forecasters tried to explain the phenomenon. More water in the atmosphere, a storm must come soon to clear the air, but that was months ago. Plants were not doing well for lack of sunlight and because there had been no rain to help the buds burst. Slimy mould was starting to cover some plants and others had a black fungus growing on them.

Then the reports of food shortages started  Crops had failed. Fruit was not swelling and growing but remained stunted.

People started to call it “the grey”, cars were banned as they were turning the fog to a thick smog. Satellite images showed the only parts of the world that had been left clear of the fog and mist were the larger seas and oceans. The grey clung to the edges of the land. Continents were visible only as cloudscapes.

Then the riots started…….