March 30: Mist

spring shower

ducks already pairing up

on the misty river

November 24: Maces Pond

Half-frozen pond--
winterberries glow
in the strange mist.

October 18: Schoodic Head Trail

Raven alerts the woods--
our clumsy passage through
misty spruces and moss

August 25: Summer evening

Mist softens the mountains.
Waiting at home
a perfect avocado.

August 6: Summer evening, Rockport Harbor

After the storm passes--
mist in the wet fields,
small clouds of Queen Anne's Lace.

April 15: Spring mist

Morning mist veils
bare branches.
Two vultures swoop low.

January 30: Budding

So strangely warm today that the crusty snow was sublimating into puffs of mist that drifted across the road like ghostly tumbleweeds. A dense fog settled over the dripping trees. Not a great day to be outside. But inside, our amaryllis slowly opens into slightly erotic hot-red buds, twin points of brightness.

Foggy evening.
Bright amaryllis buds
stretch toward the window.

January 13: Wet enough for a duck

The view from inside looked bleak, foggy. As he stepped out the front door, my husband mused, "I wonder how wet it is out here." We had barely talken two steps on our walk into town for brunch when we both laughed. A drake Mallard stood there right in front of us, about to make his way across the street, hundreds of yards away from the river. On this day that felt more like mid-March than January, I guess it was wet enough for him to take a little stroll away from the water.

Why did the duck cross the road?

When we got to town, we had brunch at a restaurant on the waterfront. The inner harbor was brimming full, a just-past-new-moon high tide, the waters still and calm. Curtis Island in the outer harbor was muted by fog and looked farther away than it really was. As we ate, we watched a single coot meander among the empty floats and cocooned windjammers. A loon surfaced with a sea urchin in its bill. Along the public landing, the very air felt laden with moisture, our wet breath making clouds each time we exhaled.

Morning of mist, tides,
ducks pacing wet streets.
Our bodies contain oceans.

December 2: Winter mist

Warmer air moving in blanketed the chilled December landscape with fog. Trees looming in the mist: a backdrop for a drowsy day, especially after staying up too late socializing with friends last night. Perfect setting for a nap with the football game on, a dog warming my feet. Then the slow drive back home, following taillights through the fog.

Christmas lights in fog.
The day's a shifting dream,
blurred around the edges.

October 20: Long walk

Participated in Rotary's End Polio walk today, about six miles from Lincolnville Beach into downtown Camden. This morning before we started out, torrential rain--but it stopped before we began the walk, so we were just fogged in. As the walkers spread out, the ones up ahead were almost invisible in the mist. Then the fog became more, well, precipitous. It began raining again, though fortunately just a constant drizzle, not like this morning's downpour. And at least it was relatively warm. The constant motion helped too. By the time we finished up, I felt pleasantly invigorated. The rain on my face, the camaraderie of a shared cause, the bright, wet foliage we'd passed by, the tingling in my leg muscles--after being sick for four days, I needed that. 

She should have known
not to wear mascara
for a long walk in the rain.

(Lest anyone get the wrong idea, this is not about myself but a friend I walked with, one of those women who won't appear in public without make-up on and who spent much of the walk wiping it off with her rain-soaked sleeve.)

February 23: River mist

All morning a thick mist rose into the air off the iced-in river, a hazy, shifting wall of fog between us and the opposite shore. The air above the river is warmer than the ice and laden with moisture. Spring-like air. Hence, the mist. From the pines beyond, a pileated woodpecker has been calling sporadically, loudly. His odd laughter, combined with the dense mist, have lent an eerie quality to the river as observed from the climate-controlled comfort of my office. Now, a bank of clouds rolls away eastward and the river ice, exposed at last to sunlight, shines.

Still-frozen river
giving up winter's ghost--
February mist.