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Fog

Yesterday morning, as I was out walking, there was a heavy fog where I couldn't see ahead of me clearly more than an arm's length. The people on the sidewalk had a tentative existence. I don't know how many more days of winter there will be, I suspect few, so I savored this experience all the more.


Then I got to reminiscing about a poem by Carl Sandburg entitled Fog. I must have been in the fourth grade when I learned it. With that, I present it to you below.



Fog


The fog comes

on little cat feet.


It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

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