The mist hung over Mousehole like a cosy blanket, warmed by the still-hidden sun. The promise of a good day was ahead.
The sun quickly burnt away the mist, as the small village began to wake for the day. Sounds were muffled and tones were muted.
As I left the harbour and headed on my way home, the sun was warm and the light breeze was heady with the scent and sounds of the sea; a constant chattering companion, always on my right.
Onwards to Newlyn which was already bustling, having been awake for hours with fishermen landing their catch. There was a feeling of entering real life again.
Through Newlyn and on to the prom, the colours became more vibrant with each step, until I was greeted with an explosion of floral delight in the parks of Penzance and a warm welcome home.