The other morning we woke to heavy fog. I walked the dogs up the lane and around what we call 'the loop' as it's mostly off road and brings you through the landscape using an old trackway that runs between fields. It's where we pick sloes for gin and eventually it joins the road that leads back home. It was slightly spooky walking through the fogged air, past the woods where the trees were dripping and cobwebs hung like spun air. Kevin had seen a fox there the day before. He was sick or old and was slow to move off. Kevin had called the dogs to heel to allow him time to go. There was no sign of him as we walked to the top of the lane passing the small field bordering the woods where the sheep huddled together. Then on through the overgrown bit and down the track that lies dipped between fields. It can be muddy underfoot, although at this time of year it's dry earth and easy to walk on. We ended up on trackway again and there right in front of us a fox full of rude good health, sleek in his glossy coat. We had startled him as he crossed in front of us and in one glorious bound he flew into the undergrowth and disappeared. And somehow just seeing him like that, for the briefest of seconds, made me feel better.