The Fog Comes Back

Fog again in the East China Sea. Not dramatic, not dangerous, simply persistent. I had hoped the earlier improvement in the weather might represent a lasting change of policy, but apparently it was only a temporary concession. After breakfast the horizon went away, leaving the ship surrounded by the familiar suggestion that the rest of the world had been removed for maintenance.

The day became mist, horn signals and droplets on the windows. Without a view to occupy the eye, small sounds seemed to gain definition. The horn entered the grey and left it looking exactly as before. Water gathered against the glass in tiny bright beads, each one offering more visual detail than the considerable distance immediately beyond it.

The sea remained calm. That helped keep the day ordinary, though it did not make it interesting. There was no drama to observe, only the patient fact of travelling through weather that had very little to say for itself. I found myself looking out repeatedly, as though the fog might reward persistence with an occasional glimpse of something other than more fog.

Priya called it tedious weather, which from her is almost an emotional outburst. She generally distinguishes very neatly between inconvenience and anything deserving a stronger response. I liked hearing the verdict, partly because it matched my own and partly because her restrained displeasure was rather appealing. I made no attempt to improve her mood with meteorological observations. The most useful thing I could offer was agreement, quietly delivered, and the continued absence of unnecessary questions.