September and October are a time of valley fog in the Adirondacks.
The waters are still warm enough and the nights are already cool enough that our mornings are sometimes bathed in white mist.
I’m sure, if you know ocean fogs, those impenetrable white banks that block highways and lead to massive pileups, you will think our fogs are tame. And they are small scale.
I’m always impressed by the way the mist makes the world small. Sitting on my lakefront porch I can hear a pair of early morning bass fisherman as if they were sitting in the rocking chairs beside me. But they are invisible as fog the makes the whole outside world feel like it is pulled in tight while staying insubstantial. The world is small and packed in cotton wool.
But these mists don’t completely hide the changing season. Those early turners, the maples that always find their fall colors first, have already shouted the bright-red message: Winter is coming.
So, after the fog clears, it’s time for one last leap from the swim dock, one last crack at that annoyingly difficult puzzle, one last late-night kayak paddle.
Winter is coming.