Fictional Interlude... Life on the Coast of Maine

I wake to dense fog pleasantly and quietly cocooning our little house. All is not quiet, however. I can hear a fog horn punctuating the distance. A gull caws. Someone is hammering. A car goes by.

Our cottage is not as remote as I'd like (it's on the edge of town) but it's ours, all ours. And a place to think and read and write.