In the ‘mizzle’ (a Cornish word for drizzly rain and mist) of Cornwall, Jacob Little finds a peaceful, community-focused world away from the summer crowds.
It’s winter. The Cornish wind whips around the crooks and crevices of the county’s boundaries, infiltrating all the empty spaces, where there are no people. From the tops of the desolate moors in Bodmin to the far reaches of Sennen beach in the very west, the whistling replaces the laughter of the millions of excitable holidaymakers that travel here each summer.
Many months ago, every square inch of these spaces were being taken in, admired and photographed by people from around the world—police even had to turn people away from some spots to stop the congestion turning into an issue of safety. Now, in the depths of January, the seasons return these areas to the land and sea.