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The Draw of the Faroes

Side TrackedSide Tracked 2019-09-17

The grey flannel fog sat on its little cat feet and hid the tops of the hills from the sky and the rest of the island, isolating valleys from their neighbours. Even though it was cold and wet, drizzle hung in the air, suffocating us as it blew in from the tunnel and out again down the damp slopes, following the glistening road and twisting down to the few small houses in the village below. It was a time of quiet contemplation and waiting. I longed for lunch, for warmth, for coffee, and a breeze to blow the fog and drizzle away. Above all I longed for light – not brilliant light, more a burst from the clouds for a split second, rays and shafts, streaks piercing the clouds – anything but the hanging mist.

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