Fog

It was quite foggy this morning as I made my way to the laboratory. In some areas it was as thick as pea soup, to use a tired phrase. It made me think of one of my favorite poems. It was a favorite of my Dad, as well.

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
Beautiful Downtown Leeds

Photo credit: Ol’ Big Jim Images

 

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About Ol' Big Jim

Jim L Wright has been a storekeeper, an embalmer, a hospital orderly, and a pathology medical coder, and through it all, a teller of tall tales. Many of his stories, like his first book, New Yesterdays, are set in his hometown of Piedmont, Alabama. For seven years he lived in the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, Amman, Jordan where he spent his time trying to visit every one of the thousands of Ammani coffee shops and scribbling in his ever-present notebook. These days he and his husband, Zeek, live in a cozy little house in Leeds, Alabama. He’s still scribbling in his notebooks when he isn’t gardening or refinishing a lovely bit of furniture. His book, New Yesterdays, can be found at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.
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8 Responses to Fog

  1. One of my favorite poems as well, Jim. Having lived in the SanFrancisco area the poem would go through my head as a drove cross the Golden Gate Bridge in August.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Jay Squires's avatar Jay Squires says:

    Yes, I remember that poem as well. It conjures up the image of fog so well. Thank you for reminding me of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Great poem. It’s snowing today up here. Like fog, the snow quiets things down.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Caz Greenham Author's avatar Caz Greenham says:

    I just love foggy days, our Jim. Love the poem too.
    We get sea fog here in Brixham. It’s really spook-a-y

    Liked by 1 person

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