A Treasure Found at Home

There’s something about the fog tonight; I’d love to go walking in the quiet neighborhoods of the City. I want to sit on a hill and watch the lights flicker through the softness. It just doesn’t feel safe or smart to do that alone, and I don’t seem to have a friend of the fog walking ilk. At least not one I can call up at this hour and ask for a sacrifice of sleep.

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

–Carl Sandburg