Fog horns sound across the bay.
A seagull flies through thick morning mist, almost blending in, its movement the only thing giving it away.
White pines stand still on the edge of the rocky beach, their limbs silhouetted by the gray-white air.
From my bed I watch the morning slowly brighten as sunlight makes its way through the fog. I stay here as long as I can, until the smell of coffee and the sounds of breakfast conversation make their way up the stairs and finally prompt me to move.
When I get up, I know I have to say goodbye. We are leaving today–making our seven hour journey home after breakfast. But I take my time, moving like the fog, lifting slowly away.