on silent haunches

This winter in Cleveland the weather has been strange. After all the melted snow then rain, then rain, then rain, I am wishing for things to dry up. I am wishing I were back at the Farm on one particular hot summer night, when a coolness surged in and surprised the fields into a mist that slid across the road and crept around the plants in my garden. I am wishing I was taking one of my "no talk walks" with my friend Sierra and admiring the beauty that is the Farm in any season. I am wishing that this hollow lonliness, which I've felt these past couple of days would stop lingering--like fog.

"Fog"
The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbour and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
--Carl Sandburg

Comments

Mummy Dearest said…
I love Carl Sandburg. He is such an amazing wordsmith!

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