We had one of those small Maine moments on Tuesday (September 18). Near dusk, there were prospects for a good sunset, so we poured a glass of red wine and waited and sipped. (Sunsets go better with red wine and vice versa.) The part of Great Cove in our view was blue and still, a lone sloop sat atop its own reflection there; Babson Island was in a spotlight of sun; thin clouds sheeted the sky here and there; the light was dimming in our tree-lined field.
Suddenly, fog appeared from nowhere and encircled Babson within minutes. That fog ring arose into a tidal wave of mist and Babson was gone; then, Eggemoggin Reach behind the Island and the sky above it were gone; then, the Cove was gone and the fog was marching steadily up the field toward us. Soon after, the field and trees were gone. And, so was our wine. But, we had a stunning two-minute fog ring to talk about at dinner. With a little more wine. (Brooklin, Maine)