Knocking Everywhere
Title from a poem by Emily Dickinson
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Fog
The fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
This is how it looked as I drove Ron to the airport this morning. Spooky.
(AP news photo, not mine).
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