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Fog on the hills.
Spending most of my time, as I do, photographing people, there are occasions when all I crave is some solitude.
By no means a landscape photographer I slipped away from home today and climbed what seemed like 26,000 feet up onto the downs through low cloud and fog. There is something strange in climbing with wheezing breath and my heart beating in my ears to reach the summit of the downs knowing I am the only one there - totally alone, no farmers, walkers, absolutely no other human life. After a while and with normal breathing restored the silence of winter really becomes apparent, no doubt sound is further surpressed by the fog that surrounds me. The only noise that penetrates the stillness is that of Rooks cawing, adding a sinister soundtrack to the gloom. As I plod further along the downs the few stunted trees that manage to survive the fierce southwesterlies emerge from the mists - they, like me, have their backs bent against the prevailing wind. Most trees are lonely survivors up here but occasionally small groups are encountered huddling together as though seeking company and mutual support against the elements. Futher on seemingly unsettled by the total silence and gloom four fallow deer peer at me from a small stand of trees before crashing off through the undergrowth.
Copyright Paul Strawson - Blog ref: 47
