Every now and then, as the light begins to fade and the sun sets, conditions are just right and a thick fog decends on a landscape local to me.  This rough and cluttered hilltop is a former 18th century Larch plantation which was felled during the Second World War to meet the timber shortages. What remains are small groupings, new volunteers and single stand alone trees. When out hiking on this high ground and caught out with rapidly diminishing light and visibility,  one begins to feel disorientated.  A background anxiety builds as a childlike fear of being lost sets in.  At times such as these I find myself anthropomorphising these larch trees as if they are familiar characters in a story. They become friends in the fog and the unique form of each tree acts as a way marker, guiding me back to the safety of the car before darkness falls. The few times I have been fortunate to experience these conditions I have had my camera with me.