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  • murdo eason


How easily is a world made strange?

A morning cloaked in a veil of haar. Eerie refrains of sonorous foghorns. Cries from the non-human world — close by, yet source unseen. Ghost boats are anchored shadows and angles. Buildings — there but not quite present. The horizon is lost. The sky is an edge.

Early morning walk in West Fife. With foghorns active from daybreak, it was clear that a haar had arrived.

np: Okkyung Lee — then, there


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