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‘November’ by John Clare
A longer poem than usual, but I love it. It’s worth reading to the end, if you have the time! The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon; And, if the sun looks through, tis with a face Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon, When done the journey of her nightly race, Had found him sleeping, and supplied his place. For days the shepherds in the fields may be, Nor mark a patch of sky – blindfold they trace, The plains, that seem without a bush or tree, Whistling aloud by guess, to flocks they cannot see. The timid hare seems half its fears to lose,…
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Fog bows
The only time I have ever seen a fog bow is very early one summer’s morning, as we were driving towards Loch Awe and Taynuilt in Argyll. The mist was lifting quickly against a brilliant blue sky, and suddenly we saw it hovering there in front us, ghost-like. Less than a minute later, it was gone. Fog bows follow same laws of physics as rainbows, with a few vital differences. They require a combination of mist and bright sunshine, and the sun must be less than 40 degrees above the horizon. Because the water droplets in the mist are so tiny, they are unable to split the rays of sunlight…
by Jo Woolf
