Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
While I surely do admire Mr. Sandburg's work, he forgot to mention the cold.
We have been foggy for a few days now, and it has been intensifying the way the cold FEELS. Everyone just lived through below zero temperatures around these parts not that long ago. But the most complaining about cold has come in the last few days.
We almost saw the sun come out up here by us this morning, but it was a brief tease that never fulfilled its promise.
So, the frost continues to grow on everything.
While I was going back and forth to the barn for wood, I saw a few things on my garden fence.
Chicken wire with ice thorns.
A morning glory seed pod with ice thorns.
And a welcome sign that looks decidedly UNwelcoming.
Spooky even.
***
My version of Carl's poem...
Fog
Ice Fog comes
on Elephant feet.
It sits glaring
on forest and garden
freezing their soul
and then stays to gloat.
***
Even Bruce is dreaming of a vacation.
Chicken wire with ice thorns.
A morning glory seed pod with ice thorns.
And a welcome sign that looks decidedly UNwelcoming.
Spooky even.
***
My version of Carl's poem...
Fog
Ice Fog comes
on Elephant feet.
It sits glaring
on forest and garden
freezing their soul
and then stays to gloat.
***
Even Bruce is dreaming of a vacation.