Hungry fog

When Robert Frost pondered, akin to T.S. Eliot, the way the world might end, the flinty sage of Derry, New Hampshire, suggested that fire and ice would do an admirable job. Eliot, of course, speculated more about the sound of the grand finale, and whether the globe would take its leave with a bang or a whimper. I could be obsessive, and cast my lot, for part of my world, with the chainsaw, but the rain and warmth that swept over the ridge made conditions impossible for the woodcutters, so I didn't have to be reminded of the continuing carnage every time I stepped outside. I was, instead, reminded of something else: the way the winter ends: with fog... plenty of fog. All of those blessed memories of a fine cold season are being released into the softened air. My weatherproof Fuji was up to the task of capturing the soulful leave-taking.