Yesterday, we managed to spend most of the day lazing about home in our pajamas. In my books, this is a near perfect day (unless of course, you're spending your day in your pj's because you're sick of course, which does NOT constitute a near perfect day). We watched the world go by on the north shore mountains, as the fog roll in and out, in and out, in and out. It was just like being back home in Newfoundland (though sometimes the fog will roll in back home and not roll out for days on end).
And throughout this marvelous, lazy day, the scenery outside changed radically. And in my slippers and pj's, I would slip close to the balcony and photograph the world passing us by. It went something like this.
It would roll in like a carpet.... and roll out again...
Until the sun slipped behind the mountains.
And then, towards the end of the day, we decided we'd take a walk in the fog, and walk ourselves right up the street for dinner. And THAT looked like this:
It's what I used to refer to when I was a child in Newfoundland, as a "Jack the Ripper night". In St. John's the sight of the fog rolling in was also accompanied by the sound of fog horns lettin' 'er rip in the distance. I found it so very spooky when I was a kid.
But last night, the fog was a little more festive given the holiday lights a' glimmering.
It was beautiful......
... much like the pace of these past few days: gentle, slow and lazy.