This morning when I entered my office, it was a beautiful summer day: blue sky, sun shining, goldenrod blooming, goldfinches cheerily visiting the feeder. I focused on work, not paying much attention to what was going on outside the window most of the day--except to watch for a while as two crows worked out a strategy to raid the high bush blueberries. But then this afternoon I happened to look out a window in a co-worker's office that faces Mount Battie and noticed that the mountain wasn't there. Instead, the rocky slope we usually see was completely enveloped in a thick mist. A blank white slate of sky loomed behind the trees.

After work I drove into town on an errand and watched the fog literally rolling up Mountain Street. A deep summer mist had descended upon the town. The bright shop windows and bustling tourists kept the mood lively, but the backdrop of this pretty harbor town was muted, all softened edges, lightly veiled. Later, I mowed the lawn in the mist, enjoying the 100% humidity condensing on my skin as I dragged the mower through the damp, overgrown grass. After I came inside, my husband looked up. "Wow, look at that fog!" he said, as if just noticing it for the first time.

Fog hides the mountain.
Or maybe it's disappeared,
moved on in the mist.