2026-08-02
The forecast promised sun. By seven the estuary had disappeared into a white wall, the kind of fog that swallows the sound of your own footsteps. I had two rolls of HP5 and decided to push them one stop and accept the grain.
The best frame is of the ferry landing: an empty bench, a timetable nobody reads, and the outline of a buoy that might be a person. I printed it soft, almost without blacks, and it is the only print from this year I have framed.