Fog? What fog?

Nero (aka Mr Squeers) was in his favourite perch  on the old boat as I left the house just before 9.30, sunshine flooding the farmyard. The sky was still cloudless when I returned at 3.30.
 At 5pm just after sunset the whole of the western skyline was illuminated by a clear saffron glow and the blades of the turbine across the valley were motionless. 
My neighbour, a farmer, predicts we will pay for this.