Our next day in Maine we took the ferry out to Long Island (not New York, a much smaller island with the same name off the coast of Portland Maine, silly) and watched the fog roll in. Having been in the west for some time now, fog has become a bit of a novelty, though I think when I lived in Maine it seemed more common place, no, wait a minute. No, fog has pretty much always been cool and slightly romantic and mysterious in my book. So after our trip to the island in the deepening mist (which I have always felt lent an a feeling of expectation to the air), we arrived at the docks as the sky finally opened up and really let us have it. I think after being away from home for so long, everything takes on some special quality and seems almost magical. Or maybe it's just me, and that I really missed Maine.