When I woke up last Sunday, our thermometer read ten
degrees below zero. Anyone who reads
Middle Passages knows that for day-to-day living, I strongly prefer hot
weather. But there’s one reason I’ll cope with negative numbers, and that's the sea smoke
that forms when very cold air hovers above warmer water. It’s kind of like
steam over a hot bath or a hot drink, and I’d never heard of it before living by
the ocean. Some people call it frost
smoke, or steam fog, and I suppose those names are apt when it occurs over
the pond down the street on the first real cold day of Fall. But last week, it was all about the sea.
Knowing the weather prediction, I actually gave thought to
getting up at sunrise on Sunday to take pictures by the water, but when dawn
arrived, I thought, who am I kidding? I well remember my frozen fingers when I did
that one January morning last year, and that day (you can read about here), it was eight
degrees above zero. Still, later in the morning, when my husband headed
out to do errands, I hemmed and hawed about going with him, thinking we’d take
a trip by the beach. Even then I talked
myself out of it. “The sun’s high. It’s
too late. Any sea smoke will be gone.” Lucky for me, he took a swing by the water,
and called me. “You need to get down
here.”
Pulling on long-johns and jeans and zipping into my down
jacket, I headed out. I wish I could
explain the mystique of sea smoke as it wafts over the ocean. What are the right words? Ghostly? Ethereal? Haunting?
On days like this I long for one of those foot-long camera lenses and
the education and skill to take professional photos. But I am who I am and I get what I
get. At least I have an eye. And this time, chattering teeth that were well worth the experience.
