The Death of Imagination

love radiation fog, especially from early-morning flights, curling like giant white carp in the valleys. Grew up with it, in Cornwall and Germany. Definitely portends something strange. Favourite moment ever, however: atop Corcovado, under the suvaco do Christo, Rio, being whipped by tiny, thick trails of cloud, which tasted salty, and which alternately wreathed and surreally backdrop'd the enormous concrete statue.

Fog is under-appreciated.