"Have you seen the weather this morning?" Charles said as I opened the front door. Somehow the blanket of fog was completely unexpected to me after listening to the weather forcast with its gloomy predictions of fog in the South East....well we're in the South West aren't we, nearly as far away from the busy centres of commerce as we can be, so no fog surely?
The all enveloping cloud enclosed our lives in an other worldly white, overlaid by the unmistakable pulse of the sea, vibrating across its surface. Not the urgent, angry, drumming roar of the weekend, that spoke of a partly expended Atlantic swell but a gentle caressing sound enveloping our morning as comforting as the purring of a familiar cat.
The chatter of radio four from the feedhouse kept me company for a while surrounded by the clank of mangers and gentle munching. Followed by the angry, metallic "scratch scratch scratch of the battered old rake on the car park as Charles tidied the gravel before the guest came out from breakfast. Still later the whine of the hoover as we beetled about the house and bedrooms muttering "tea bags, hot chocolate bottled water" in an effort to remember everything that was needed all in one trip to the bedrooms (this seldom happens but I dare say the exercise is good for me!) And now the ring of the blacksmith hammer on his anvil on his regular, four weekly visit to Ednovean Farm, the ancient rhythmic beat that has been heard on farms for centuries, as the sea purrs on.
Today's picture:- A view of St Micheal's mount as the fog clears on an early Autumn morning taken in the garden of Ednovean farm
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