Fog – Harriet took the same route, every weekend. Even when there was fog. (Genre – General, Rating – PG)
The morning was a crisp, sharp cold like the bite of a fresh apple.
The gravel of the pathway crunched underfoot, sharp stones digging into Harriet’s soles enough for her to feel it through the walking boot. Her route forward was mostly shrouded in the gentle fog that settled over the forest at winter, drawn in from the sea a good number of miles away. It made it feel almost ethereal out here, surrounded by clouds and listening to the quiet breaths of nature in the still air.
Her path was the same, as it always was. Up towards the treeline, through the edge of the trees as the path looped back around the bog in the middle of the land, and then down the other side, following the edge of the reserve as she walked back towards home. There wasn’t any interesting wildlife to be seen, but she could hear it. The birds called across the cold air, their sharp songs sounding shrill against the calm forest backdrop. In the distance, she thought she could hear horses braying in the fog, calling out to the rest of its herd.
Harriet didn’t think, not whilst she was out here. Here it was quiet and peaceful, where the machinations of the world did not reach her. It was a world, her world, where her mind could calmly take in every sensation that wrapped around her brain and caressed it gently.
It was the same walk that she took every weekend, but every time it was different. And for that half an hour, she was lost in her own mind, at peace with the universe, and at peace with herself.