Morning Stillness

The fog comes 

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

Over harbor and city

On silent haunches

And then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

Wrapping itself round

barn and meadow

It stretches,

And then moves on.

(with apologies to CS.)

 

On a Misty Morning

Quick shots from 8am to 8:45-- as I followed John to the Walnut Service Center where he left his truck and back home again. 

 'They' say that for every fog in August, there'll be a snow in winter. Stand by for a snowy season.

 

There Should Have Been Music

Early morning on the parkway . . . and long shafts of light filter through the fog-bound trees.

I stopped and waited for a  Voice to speak . . . or for music to fill the still air with great, striding chords.

A curtain of light before me . . .

Almost daunting to drive into it . . . is this what the Rapture looks like?

Safely through . . . I'm in no danger of being raptured away.

But then, in a somewhat surreal moment, there they were again, this time coming from my left. 

Such, I reminded myself, are the twists and turns of the Parkway.

Still, there should have been music.