On the way to work
This morning was unremarkable in most respects until I stepped out of my front door to see fog. Summer Hill wreathed in fog is lovely beyond speaking, the way it dims the edges of things and turns the mundane into a fairyland of the imagination.
I desperately wanted to grab my camera and capture it. The spire of the church cutting through the mist, the old flour factory looming from the fog. I did see that from the bus, cream on grey it was a beautiful study in subtlety. Unfortunately work calls, but that fog fired my imagination and helped bring wonder back. Even along Paramatta road it softened the traffic and added beauty. By the time I had reached Central it had burned off but there was still a delicious chill in the air. Winter is coming to Sydney, it may be my last here for the forseeable future.
I desperately wanted to grab my camera and capture it. The spire of the church cutting through the mist, the old flour factory looming from the fog. I did see that from the bus, cream on grey it was a beautiful study in subtlety. Unfortunately work calls, but that fog fired my imagination and helped bring wonder back. Even along Paramatta road it softened the traffic and added beauty. By the time I had reached Central it had burned off but there was still a delicious chill in the air. Winter is coming to Sydney, it may be my last here for the forseeable future.