Island weather on the island.

Late yesterday afternoon the fog suddenly rolled in and we were enveloped in cotton wisps, trembling and curious as ghosts. No stars, no moon, just a sky like cloth, an invisible cove, the damp air vibrating with cries of spring peepers, those tiny frogs who are all sound, no body. The night was phantasmagoric.

Now the cove is visible, but in soft focus, every twig and blade coated in mist, the horizon as blue as slate. Yesterday's weather was decent enough for T and P to undertake their hard hike up the Beehive, but today everything is slick. We'll have a slow start.

So good to have our people here. So good to be sitting by a wood fire with coffee on the make and a pair of ducks upending themselves in the shallow waters. So good to be alive.