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, felled during the Second World War to meet the timber shortages. What remains are small groupings, new volunteers and singles standing alone. When caught out on this high ground in rapidly diminishing light and visibility one feels disorientated and a background anxiety builds as a childlike fear of being lost sets in.  At times such as these I find myself anthropomorphising the larch trees like 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 witness these conditions I have had my camera with me.