October 1: Limbo

Today we weren't expecting to spend much time outside at all. A big storm was predicted. Ferries were cancelled. Trap Day--the opening day of Monhegan's lobster fishing season, which was supposed to start today--was postponed. The wharf is filled with stacks of traps piled five high, a maze of colorful wire, rope, and buoys. Half a dozen lobster boats bob in the harbor, loaded with traps, waiting for tomorrow morning.

We wandered around in the fog waiting for the rain to start so we'd have no excuse not to put away the binoculars and finally take a nap or read that long-neglected book. But instead the fog burned off and the sky brightened. We ate pizza al fresco (for about the seventh day in a row). Now the fog has moved back in and the wind has picked up. It feels like rain again. Tomorrow my friends and I are leaving the island on different boats. It's our last full day, and already that bittersweet sense of what it will be like to leave behind this idyll of birds, good friends, and incredible natural beauty has begun to take root. By tomorrow half my brain will be thinking ahead to what I need to get done when I step off the boat and head home. But today, no matter which way the weather turns and how few birds I see, I'm doing my best to be fully here.

Sun breaks through fog late.
Roar of the surf reminds us
of imminent storm.