"There was Thick Fog in Greendale..."

So began one of the more popular Postman Pat stories that played constantly on our car stereo on long road trips in Pakistan when the children were small. It had all the ingredients of a simple lost and found story for an intrigued 5 year old and a 3 year old. At least it kept them quiet.

Now, Every time the winter fogs roll in from the coast up the River Tejo and envelop our home in Parque das Nações in a white shroud, that first line always comes back to me.

Today was particularly magical. From early morning it was a white blanket. Then by about midday the mists began to clear.

At one point the sun came out about midday, even as the thick white fog continued to hang over the middle of the river. Looking out over the Vasco da Gama Bridge there was this eerie effect of traffic apparently disappearing into nothing ness. Life is sometimes like that. Sometimes you have to keep driving even though you don’t know what’s ahead and there’s not much to guide you. You have to trust the indications you have been given, and to know that the white glow all around you is a promise that gives you that somewhere up there is the sun, and that eventually it will clear, and you’ll know your way better.