Fog

There are, believe it or not, a few disadvantages to living in this little village, not the least of which relates to the weather. We are perched on a shelf jutting out into the icy Atlantic and if there is fog, we're in it! Today started out cloudy and a little gloomy, like Eeyore. As there was no forecast for rain, I was out in the garden by 8am, sprinkling the vegetables and giving the fig tree its requisite 10 litres twice a week and disposing of offending caterpillars munching on the rocket. Naturally, within half an hour the fog rolled in, followed by a short, sharp shower.
Fog must have a certain temperature at which it forms, I would think, making it rather unpleasantly cool to sit under the milkwood tree at the coffee shop up the road, and everyone was dressed in winter woollies for the occasion. After a quick cappuccino, I set off to meet the parents halfway across the Peninsula, not 5 kilometres away, only to find, as usual, that the finger of fog extended to the outer limits of Kommetjie and the rest of the world was to all intents and purposes fairly bathed in sunshine.
A convivial celebratory lunch to mark the occasion of Dad's 87th birthday ensued, and by the time we exited the building, it was hot enough to shed the scarf and jacket. Back along the road to home, and into the fog blanket again. On with the scarf and jacket.
The gloom glowered on through the afternoon until (no surprise) the sun went down and lit up the high clouds overhead in a warm pink glow. The fog faded away with the daylight, leaving a tiny crescent moon, Jupiter and Saturn bright overhead. That Irishman Murphy at work again.