I can remember where I took this picture.
It was in the hill country just north of Taumaranui in the central North Island, at a highway rest stop.
I can describe the weather.
There was a fog, like smoke, opaque and wispy at turns, drifting through the pines and scrub, leaving all damp to the touch.
But I truly know what fog feels like.
For it was in my head, in a troubled time, when there was no clarity and no respite and for a brief period, no hope.
And even though I have climbed out of the worst of it, there are still moments, small intervals, when the fog returns from banishment.
Very frustratingly, I might add.
Then I remember that the fog must lift, and the sun come through, as it did a only a few minutes down the road…