May is here with the fog rolling in right along with it. Fog always remind me of being little and my Mom walking me to school, she would always recite this on a foggy morning as we walked.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg
I’m sure my daughter has heard it from me many times on a foggy morning. I think I’ll text it to her this morning (well at least the first line) and see what she says…
I miss fog! I miss mom reciting the poem to us. Nice memory.