Fog. Soft misty ethereal. Shadows hover silently in the air beneath streetlights, cast by motionless tree branches. At 7 p.m. the streets are strangely quiet, with occasional dark figures disappearing and reappearing in the haze. Dampness makes the 11 degrees seem a hint cooler, while walking raises the body temperature, warding off the impending chill. Even the usually bustling inner harbour is eerily subdued. No fleeting glimpses of people wandering along the lower promenade. The water, still and mirror-like, reflects the icy-aqua-blue neon lights lining the low roof of the Underwater Sea Garden Museum. Only a lone fast food hut, fully lit and open for business across the harbour, beside the tourist info building, seems to have escaped the seductive tendrils of the fog. It is bright and clearly illuminated. In contrast to the other lights almost smothered by the fog, it appears almost defiant of the foggy night.
Looking back from the vantage point at tourist information building end of the harbour, the government buildings, with their thousands of white lights outlining the front and domed top, are no where to be seen. Yet, I walked along the sidewalk just moments before and saw the lights, albeit through a thin veil of fog. But from the far end of the inner harbour, the fog is thick enough to obscure them. Completely. It is not until I have walked almost half way back along the harbour-level walkway, towards Belleville Street, that a vague white shape materializes: a cloud formation? A ghost? Nothing definite. Could they be the distinctive tiny white lights? I stop to admire the sight, so different from the picture on a multitude of postcards available around the city.
My gaze finally moves away reluctantly, to look at the few sail boats moored at the docks in the harbour just a few feet away. The pale-orange of the lights on each of the piers between the boats makes the foggy air a soft peachy colour. There is no wind to disturb the water.
Up above, along Government Street, a horse and carriage clip clops along, turning onto Belleville, it's occupants peering to their left at the slightly out of focus "postcard picture" of the government buildings. They take no notice of the ghostly boat images in the inner harbour to their right or to the dark figure standing peacefully on the promenade below them, with her head in the clouds.
From my journal November 14, 1999
