Fog, Still

More fog in the Arabian Sea. Grey water, grey sky and droplets collecting on every rail: the day offered a tightly controlled selection of effects. I ran my fingers along a damp surface and immediately regretted the experiment. The weather had already made its point visually. There was no need to obtain a personal sample for further assessment.

The sea remains nearly flat, which makes the lack of visibility feel stranger rather than safer. Nothing moves enough to explain the sense of confinement. Beyond the ship there ought to be an immense amount of space, but the mist has reduced it to an unhelpful suggestion. It is like travelling through a room whose walls have been removed but whose wallpaper remains.

Container followed me to the laundry, the library, lunch and back to the cabin. She waited outside each door like a patient but judgemental chaperone. Every emergence found her in attendance, apparently prepared to continue despite the uninspiring quality of the itinerary. I was pleased to have company, though I would have preferred company less obviously disappointed by the length of my errands.

The laundry, books and lunch gave the day a sequence the view could not provide. Warmth indoors, damp air outside, the soft sound of paws behind me: these became the landmarks. Back at the cabin, I had the peculiar satisfaction of having been somewhere without having seen very far at all. Container seemed to regard the circuit as completed adequately, which is probably the highest assessment available.