"Quelle belle brume!"

About twenty years ago, we were in St. Pierre for a few days' holiday.
One foggy, misty morning, we were walking to a local bakery to get
something for breakfast when a man burst out of his house onto the
street still dressed like he was in bed just a moment before. He
stretched his body and, with his arms up in the air, he said to us and
anyone else in earshot, "Quelle belle brume!"

I like the fogs here, too, like this one, this afternoon.