On the midcoast of Maine, summer days can be any number of things, one of which is, like today, foggy. Silently, the fog creeps in, obscuring all but the closest views and silencing the noises usually heard on the water.
Though it is now impossible to see across the harbor, I like the fog as backdrop. The trees are softly outlined and each shade of green takes on a veiled identity.
While other boats float listlessly in the water and skippers wait for the day to clear, lobstermen and women head out to the bay to check their pots.
Before long this summer Sunday will likely clear, but in the meantime, I will settle in with a good book and maybe drowse a little in my chair.
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