A thousand times the mountains appear and disappear in the fog. I stand with them. My hiking shoes slide softly over the rolling, uneven, damp rocks. My eyes never leave the far shore. The great blue heron flew. The sea lion swam close to the water's edge. Fishing boats came and went. Still we stood, these mountains and I, daring the fog, until it gave way to our desires. I gazed at the full view, dull under the late morning filtered light. Disappointed. The magic is gone. But the plein air painting sketch is finished and its mountains appear and disappear, a thousand times.