Haar, Haar, Haar

The day wakes bright with some high cloud. The sun has determination to force through so its warmth can be felt behind the livingroom window. The only hint of a problem lies across the estuary. The hills can be seen but there is some blurring of the demarcation between their base and the sea. The same problem is troubling the sea's skin which has lost its wrinkles to a meteorological foundation layer.

More hint of what is to come hits the body when venturing outside and when not in sight of the sun - there is an almost imperceptible chilling edge to the the air which carries a scent of salted seaweed. Yes, the haar is on its way.

The first advance party of fluff traverses the beach in wisps of obscurity. Dogs and people come and go from vision. Blinking and rubbing the eyes does no good: this is for real. The cold menace is relentlessly winning against the sun.

In no time at all it reaches the sea wall. Built to withstand storms and tides, it is no match for the creeping menace that effortlessly rises in supremacy and continues its relentless march inland.

More and more pours across the impotent defences laying blankets across the town which occasionally tosses them upwards until only the tall spires are still dipped in the floss.

The whole experience is known locally as a haar.




More examples can be seen here
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gen2/