The Haar

It comes off of the North Sea, making its way through the Cathedral ruins, to stroll through the streets.  The Haar.  A misty, chilly sea breeze that swirls and rolls down South Street like it is taking a stroll, popping into shops to do its afternoon shopping.  Rolling in off the sea, dissolving into small knots, which float their way down streets and up closes.  You can observe one patch coming, watch it pass over and around (and through) you, continuing, unobstructed, up the street. 

The first time I ever saw the Haar, I was sitting in the library.  I looked up from my books on a lovely sunny day to see wisps of what I assumed to be smoke curling and swirling their way up North Street.  I initially thought there was a fire down the street, until the mists thickened and a cloud rolled through, engulfing St. Salvators, the library, and my view of the street.  

The chilly haze of the Haar settles in around town on otherwise sunny days, lasting but a few hours at most, to be eventually burned off by the sun or blown away by the sea breezes.  It is not an all-covering blanket.  It settles here and there, like patches of melting snow.  One can turn down one bright street into a pedestrian lane and encounter a cool mist that paused there, for a rest, on its journey from the Cathedral to the West Port.