Misty Avalon

Another writing and editing session in Glastonbury today, for the piece on climate catastrophe some of us west-based poets are preparing, and as it was misty and sunny and beautiful, Dominic and I decided to avoid the M5 and take the scenic route.

I was hoping for a repeat of this: the October Sunday, seven and a bit years ago, when we stopped on Bristol Hill, en route for Wells Literary Festival, to gaze at the mist spreading over the Vale of Avalon. 

But as we descended from the sunlit heights of the Mendip Hills, it became clear that it was too foggy to see anything at all. This is the view of the coombe from Rachael's sitting room. 

Throughout the day, I took little breaks to look out the window and watch its gradual retreat.

First the top of the Mendips came into view ...

... then the houses down the hill ... 

... and finally the towers of Wells Cathedral on the far side of a distant river of mist.

Then, before we left, it came piling back in again. 

I had a hunch it might be worth returning the way we came, so we drove to Wells, ascended Bristol Hill, turned around by the TV mast at the top, and drove back down the hill, pulling over just above the sign post where I'd stopped all those poetry years ago. 

And we were rewarded with this. 

A reminder, perhaps, that when you can no longer be bothered to go out of your way to find beauty, it might be time to call it a day.