Yorkshire Fog

Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge

From the hilltop, the field looked like it was smoking …. a low pink haze clinging to the grass. I had walked an hour to see it, expecting mist.

Up close, there was no fog at all …. just thousands of tiny spikes, each one dusted rose and rust, nodding together in the summer breeze. Velvet grass, the guide book called it. Yorkshire fog …. blurring in the distance, the old farmer said …. and I was struck by the romance in his words.

I knelt and touched one plume; it was as soft as its name promised, softer than any fog had ever been.

I stayed until the light changed and the pink deepened to copper, thinking how the best illusions are the ones worth walking toward.

Not fog at all, but a flowering
haze of rose and rust
that drifts above the meadow grass
like smoke without the dust.

Each spike a soft-fringed feather,
each feather kissed with wine,
nodding in the summer breeze
where green and pink entwine.

NAR©2026

This is “Summer Breeze” by Seals & Crofts

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #093

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