Fog, Concrete and a Red Bridge

SEP 2024A foggy morning on the coast

Old concrete batteries covered in paint, a red bridge disappearing into the fog, a cargo ship sliding past — and a brother waiting for us halfway across.

The fog hadn’t lifted when we started walking. The path climbed through wet scrub to a ridge of old concrete, the kind of place built for watching the sea and then forgotten for a hundred years.

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Every wall had been claimed. Layer after layer of paint — names, faces, a cartoon cat grinning out of a doorway — bright colour on grey concrete, softened by the fog.

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We wandered the bunkers in silence: empty gun pits, dark corridors, stairs that led up into nothing but white.

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Then the cloud thinned, and there it was — a red bridge stepping out of the fog, cables vanishing into the sky above it.

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Down below, a cargo ship slid out of the mist, stacked high and in no particular hurry. Across the water, a city floated on top of the cloud.

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Halfway across the bridge, a brother was waiting. Leather jacket, a warm smile, a beard he’s clearly proud of. We walked, talked, swapped stories, and stopped every few metres for one more frame.

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By the time we said goodbye the fog was rolling back in, swallowing the towers one by one. Some places you visit for the view. This one we’ll remember for the handshake halfway across.

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