Daily Photo – Esplanade sea fog

Late in the evening, I stepped out onto the St Clair Esplanade, greeted by a thick sea fog that had rolled in silently over the last hour. I’d been tucked away just around the corner at a bar called Salt, enjoying the comforting heaviness of a burger, the sharpness of pickles and charred beef softened by a few leisurely pints. Inside was warm, bustling with catter and the clink of glasses; outside, the night was taking hold.

Streetlamps glowed like lanterns in the mist, casting soft, hazy light that stretched down the esplanade in a procession. I could hear the ocean breathing somewhere just beyond the railings. The fog had a way of absorbing sound and scattering light, wrapping everything in stillness. I wandered slowly, past the old signpost pointing to far-off places and the poem stencilled along the sea wall. For a moment, I had the coast to myself—just the hum of distant waves, the glow of lamps, and the heavy quiet of the fog.