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.