It is the middle of the night as I write this and a thick fog has descended outside, muffling sounds, dimming streetlights to a whisper and smudging the surrounding countryside into dark, indecipherable daubs of smoke. This is my favourite kind of weather, utterly romantic and thrillingly mysterious. Fog-drenched cities transport me to Dickensian London, full of cobblestones and horse-drawn carriages, villains, jovial ne’er-do-wells and the occasional cheeky urchin. In the countryside, the very minute a veil of mist obscures the view, I fancy I hear Cathy’s ghost calling out across the moors for her beloved Heathcliff. Inspired by the great swirling blanket outside my window, I have gone looking for some of my haziest photos.

Arches National Park on a misty day has got to be seen to be believed. Spectacular at any time of year, but during monsoon season it takes on an entirely mystical allure.

Manhattan in the fog looks like an ocean liner gliding gently down the Hudson River. Even the yellow cabs seem to honk in hushed tones.

I spotted this baby fawn trying to keep up with its mother on a cloud-covered trek in Mount Rainier National Park.

A horse and his rider, enveloped in the fog that greeted us as we reached the top of Volcán de Pacaya in Guatemala. We didn’t toast marshmallows on the hot lava, but I did get to ash-ski back down the volcano by twilight, which was a ridiculous amount of fun.

I hope this week’s travel theme doesn’t get you lost in the mists of time. If you would like to join in (everyone’s welcome!) here’s what to do:

• Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Misty
• Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
• Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
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Play Misty for me.

xxx Ailsa

Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song, and all about you will be beauty. There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail. – Robert Motherwell

…and one of my favourite poems, it never fails to make me laugh…

In the Arms of My Glasses

They can call me softy

as ofty

as they please

but still I’ll stand by these

my little optical accessories

they stop me walking into lampposts

and trees, when it’s foggy

and I’m out walking with my doggie

– John Hegley