Thursday, 7:45 AM. 56 degrees, wind W, dead calm. The channel and almost everything else is enshrouded by fog, and the barometer predicts rain.
It is a foggy day in Bayfield town, to paraphrase the old song. The foghorn is bellowing intermittently and the ferry warning horn is sounding, otherwise all else is quiet but the birds.
One needs this kind of weather variation to wind down and put things in perspective. The harsh light and constant dryness of desert days would be hard for me to take. I need an occasional foggy respite.
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