This morning greeted me again with fog. Even though I’m extremely allergic to cats, I naturally appreciate Carl Sandberg’s famous poem.
by Carl Sandberg
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
I see the fog crawl in as I wait for the el train. I hope it clears for loved ones who will travel tomorrow. I'm reminded on Facebook how it's a bust for fireworks.
Somehow the fog comforts me as I wake and get ready for my day. I embrace the swirly fog as I cross the Chicago River near the Merchandise Mart. It makes me nostalgic for when my parents took us to Ireland for their 25th wedding anniversary. I wonder if this is similar to the beauty of Seattle.
The thick mist follows me to my office. If I were home with my baby, I would surely write my masterpiece while he napped.
I image the rain droplets on my face is a magnificent and glorious facial.
The fog limits my visibility, but I know the Chicago skyline. I take in the outline of the city I love so well... I think of the famous Chicagoans and loved ones before me who walked these streets… I channel the genius of Ernest Hemingway and Gwendolyn Brooks. Amazing architects like Burnahm and Frankl Lloyd Wright envisioned these lines. Shady mobsters and gangsters like Al Capone smuggled liquor doing prohibition and committed unimaginable crimes...
I bid “goodbye” to the hazy vapor and my fantasy as I opened my building door to think great thoughts and hopefully cross a lot of my long to-do list.
On the bright side, we always wear sunscreen, but if you don’t you should be ok. I forgot my sunglasses and don’t even need them!
What do you think of fog?