Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on
This afternoon my husband and I went to see American Sniper at the theatre at Broadway at the Beach, one of our favorite places to go to the movies while we are here.
After the movie and an early dinner at Joe's Crab Shack, we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for breakfast treats for tomorrow morning, then drove back to the condo on North Oceans Blvd. Suddenly we noticed a white haze rolling around the buildings, drifting over the street, and impeding the view of what was ahead. The closer we came to our condo, we noticed that the top floors had vanished. The fog was thick.
The view from our balcony is limited now. We can see the sand, the cute little shelters for sunbathers, and a few people. We can see the shoreline. Other than that....fog.
My husband wanted to go for a walk, and we may do that in an hour or so. However, I am not a fan of being in fog and not knowing where I am or what I am close to. Too many times have I driven in the country from our house to my in-laws' house, counting telephone poles as I go, creeping along looking for county road signs, and rolling down windows just to hear any oncoming traffic because I surely can't see any vehicles through the white cottony mess.
I am sure the fog will eventually leave, just like in Sandburg's poem. Silently. Looking over the shore line. Moving on.
