Fog
The fog comes
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Paul mostly just stared at me like I'd grown another head as I recited this. I don't think he appreciates Sandburg or the fact that I have this poem memorized. I get no respect.
And, of course, a gratuitous picture of my cat who most definitely does not have little fog feet. There are times he comes down the stairs and makes more of a racket than either Paul or I. Jub has claimed this chair, the small recliner we purchased for the bedroom last spring, as his own. We've given up on ever getting to sit in it ourselves and now just keep a towel in the seat so he doesn't completely muck up the upholstery by shedding.
3 comments:
Jub is Millie's TWIN. I'm absolutely convinced they were separated at birth.
I appreciate the poem, Carrie!! :-)
That "cat's feet" fog shows up here a lot! This is a very foggy time of year on the coast. I like morning fog though --- when its not too thick --- the watery sun trying to burn through -- the trees in the distance, just visible. But then there is always the person (I really wanted to say idiot) who decides he doesn't have to have lights on when driving bacause after all it is daylight or the other guy who decided he must the mega bright foglights on so that you are blinded. I want them all off the road so I can just drive in awe of the scenery. :) Oh, and I like that poem. Taught it for years. Very good for figurative language. (I'll flaunt my English degree also.)
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