I woke one morning while I was away with my family in Vermont last week. Outside, the sky was white and mist settled down on the streets. It reminded me of one of a poem I love, FOG, by Carl Sandburg, written in 1916.
FOG
The fog comes in
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
What a perfect metaphor, fog as a living thing, a mysterious cat that creeps in, ever so slowly, opaque, finding a perch, and thinking about who know what. It leaves when it wants.
I wrote the following poem about ten years ago and was my attempt at using metaphor to describe a common winter phenomenon. Have you every lay in bed awake in the early morning when the snow plow passes?
THE SNOW PLOW Rattles outside. Gold lights flicker in the early morning like a watchman passing with a lantern, The lights circle my bedroom wall fade and vanish. Later, out in the street-- boot prints. © Janice Scully 2020
Happy New Year Everyone. January first is my favorite holiday, full of possibility and hope. I hope it’s a good year for everyone.
Thank you, Carol, for hosting at Carol’s Corner where you will find a poem that is perfect for the beginning of a new year.