Thin grey fog, one of many types from pea soup to frozen fog, each with their own character, every one whispers, calling me away from my appointed rounds. Diverted, delayed, distracted, I banked the Vespa from the pavement onto the gravel and into the fog. I can’t resist, in honesty I don’t desire to resist. In the dim mist a boy’s dreams of mystery, suspense and adventure come to life.
The little ride to work has a bit more bite, a little more grit.
Life on a Vespa is sweet. A ride in the fog is magnificent.
Just watch out single strands of fence wire strung across open gates…
Nicely written Steve. I always look forward to your posts.
Thanks Brent. I’ll keep practicing until I’m ready to write that book I keep thinking about…
I really like the foggy photo. It was foggy every morning last week but this week things have improved to sunny and cold. I.e. right around freezing.
Do people really sting up single strands of fence wire across open gates?
It’s not often you see a single strand of wire but it does happen, especially on pastures with single strand electric fences. There have been more than a few people who have met their death striking them. I’m always careful with open gates. And with electric fences in general. Seems I’m destined to renew my familiarity with them every few years. Really sucks that the voltage in the damn things keeps going up!