Fine rain, settled gently in the earlier puddles, greeted me on the way home. Splashing as high as the screen. Mud run off the fields and fine aggregate deposited by ad-hoc steams, tracked by cars, stuck to the tarmac. Little used T-junctions worked the differential as tyres threw up this damp deposit, seeking the metalled surface beneath.
The sky was pale grey, bruised. Wind whispered and the headlights showed edges, hedges, posts and white lines. Approaching eyes glared through the mist and the beam helped a little before being soaked up and scattered by the damp air.
Reflectors signposted property boundaries, parked vehicles or day-glow clothing on dog walkers and cyclists; picking them out like the victims of thermonuclear accident or, with glowing highlights, like Tron people.
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