I took these photographs during our swift stop in Wales to pick up our dog, Pippin, from his grandfolks, who had been taking care of him whilst we were away. I was told that this day was the first relief from rain since we had left. The fog rose thick and moved like a wall across the marshy fields that swept bottom of the valley. The animals continued to graze, nonetheless, though the birds fell silent and the trees swayed eerily. To make a sound in this serenity seemed nothing short of blasphemous. The bleakness of it all was capturing, but above all, it was the green that struck the most. I cried on our way back to Dorset, because for all the mist, there was moss, for all the silver-cold waters, ivy, for all the loss of leaves, lichen upon the oaks, and pale and frosted as it was, there was grass!
