There’s a transitional period in the fall when chilly air combined with water still storing summer’s warmth creates fog on the lake— like last Wednesday when I went for an early morning row surrounded by a thick mist that swirled in and out.
One moment I was bathed in bright sunshine, the next engulfed in a cold, gray void. As the fog and sunlight battled each other, I took this photo right at the edge. Looking at it later got me thinking about how we see things. An optimist might say the fog was the blank canvas. Blue sky and green trees emerge as the brushstrokes of light expand.
Me? I know that these misty lake mornings, like the red leaves on the maple in my yard, mean winter’s black-and-white palette is creeping relentlessly closer — the fog is just the advance guard.
By Friday as the temperature rose again, the mist was gone and the lake felt summery enough for me to go swimming after my row.
But the grey will be back, and it will eventually erase all the color.