Fog
Fog
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
The presence of 3 regular outdoor visitors has led me to think often of this beautiful poem from my childhood. I grew up on the work of the American poet and writer, Carl Sandburg, just as I in many ways grew up on the old dairy goat farm that exists to this day on what was once his homestead. Outside of my hometown of Asheville, NC, there sits a beautiful white house nestled in the mountains on acres of luxurious land that I walked so often with my mother when I was a girl. We used to volunteer with the goats at the Carl Sandburg home, and those memories have in so many ways informed my relationship to animals and to veganism, just as this poem has forever informed my psyche.
I hope that you love these words as much as I do.
Bisous!
Rachel
Lovely memories, Rachel. It always interests me how certain memories stay so vivid within us.
Thanks for the comment, Annie! It is very interesting, I’m sure I could still find my way around that place after all these years but if you asked me where the bathroom was in my old elementary school, I’d be lost!
Love the photo!