Misty mornings change the way we see familiar scenes. It’s the difference between harsh sunlight and the soft glow from the moon, a familiar object literally in a different light. Heading into autumn mists rise more and more, lifting as the warmth of the sun burns them away. The mist hides buildings and mountains, softens normally graphic structures and muffles sounds all around.
The Orwell bridge is a mass of concrete and steel which carries lorries and cars over the river from which it takes its name. Drivers thunder across in a hurry whilst down below the River Orwell quietly flows.
Far below the sounds are muffled, it’s quiet and still. Mist comes and goes carried on the gentle breeze. The bridge’s gentle curves disappear into the mist on the other side of the river. But underneath the bridge the curves disappear allowing converging uprights and sharp angles to take over. Walls of concrete rise from the river to support the road above; the mist softens even these.
I knew when I decided to take a look at the bridge on a misty morning it would look different and I played around looking at the curves of the bridge and their reflections in the river below but they seemed too familiar. As I walked underneath to take a look from the other side the view struck me a familiar place, a different view.