This was the scene at the end of my road a few days ago. Commuters heading home through the freezing murk beneath the bones of trees.
I'm sure they paid scant notice to me, camera in hand, at the side of the road. And there was certainly no one else about. But I like this kind of weather, I like walking through a cloaking murk. The world becomes a different, more interesting place. Colder and perhaps more miserable sure, but interesting. The air is still, light shimmers off objects coated in a sheen of moisture, the sound is deadened and shadows are filled with grey.
Maybe I've been influenced by all those old thirties black and white films, where the hero/villain stands in the shadows, invariably in a fog. They knew the appeal and mystery fog imbues any scene. Just think of the classic image in the final scenes of Casablanca, the plane waiting in a foggy airport, the lovers about to part... I guess I'm just an old romantic.