The fog rolls in off the water, no announcement. Sound softens, then edges, then distance itself. The world contracts. To walk in the fog transports you to elsewhere. Shapes drift, in and out. Light arrives from no particular direction. The world retreats behind a curtain, the exhalation of the sea.

Cool and damp, the colour of the in-between. Where the sea exhales, where the sky descends into water, where the horizon was. Not empty. Everything, but silenced.