The sun peeked over the horizon and set fire to the high points of Harbor Springs, Michigan, behind us. Above the shoreline of Petoskey State Park, maybe a third of a mile off our bow, a wisp of cloud arced across the sky like a brush stroke. It glowed a pale pink, as though the brush needed more paint. Hugging the inshore waters off the port quarter, sea smoke, created by the cold night air over warm water, mesmerically undulated, advanced, retreated, opened its maw and closed it again. We motored into it and let it wrap us in gauzy obscurity. Within several minutes, the sea smoke broke into a handful of amorphous shapes and evaporated into the sun’s warmth.