Lobster boat in the fog

I heard him long before I could see the boat, shrouded in the fog. I waited patiently and the fog lifted enough to see him standing in the stern, checking traps. I was on the edge of the bluff in the cemetery next door, overlooking the tidal Machias River. Clark's Point, across the river, where my grandfather was born, was barely visible and Round Island was invisible once more. The fog cleared a bit, but it's pea soup again this evening.

For the Record,
This day came in the same as the others in a long line of foggy days.

All hands relaxing, we finished our 1000 piece Feline Tales puzzle today