Fog
The fog comeson little cat feet.It sits lookingover harbor and cityon silent haunchesand then moves on.By Carl Sandburg
This poem by Carl Sandburg could have been penned on a day just like Wednesday when we spent a few hours exploring the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site. It was a delightful morning and there will be more posts forthcoming but for today I wonder if Mr. Sandburg was inspired by fog that rolled into the home site on a similar day.
Perhaps Mr. Sandburg stepped out onto his porch to take in the view and instead of the mountains was greeted by a fog such as this. I can totally understand how Fog came to be written if this was the case.
Do you embrace foggy days or do they press in on you? Let me know in the comments and remember to Comment for a Cause.
