Misty Morning Reindeer Run

The fog was thick and made the view from my window seem eerie when I awoke this morning. A few bright yellow leaves were visible, and the dark green trees were cloaked in pale grey. On the 210 bus to Finsbury park, I pinned on my race number and watched the familiar streets flicker past, disguised in the low mist. The early sun flashed bright through the bare branches of trees lining the roads, giving the effect of an old film reel, making the morning seem special, recordable.

At Finsbury park the air was cold and still and the mist was thicker here, drawn by the dew-laden grass, coveting the trees, deadening joggers’ footsteps and hiding everything from view: lampposts and trees veiled, dogs and their walkers materialising from paths leading nowhere.