An autumn ridge walk, mostly in fog

The forecast promised clearing by mid-morning. By the time we reached the first saddle the cloud had only thickened, and the ridge ahead dissolved after about thirty metres.

Fog changes the scale of a walk. Without the long view you notice the near things: lichen on the fence posts, the sound of sheep you never actually see, water beading on the wool of your sleeve.

We never did get the view. We did get a flask of tea in a dry-stone shelter and an hour of not talking.

Coming down, the cloud lifted for perhaps two minutes and the valley appeared all at once, green and bright, before closing again. That was enough.