Mist and fog that hide the landscape while transforming it.

A ghostly atmosphere where we expect at any moment to see the bow of a boned wreck emerge like ghosts wandering through the twists and turns of time.

When the eye only sees a few meters away, hearing takes over, attentive to the slightest sound that propagates on the surface in white silence. In the distance the sound of an engine and two echoing voices, certainly fishermen, closer to the oars plunging regularly into the water, or perhaps the paddles of a kayak, a seagull cry heard above our heads...

"The mist always ends up returning to nature the landscape it has veiled."