After days of record breaking cold...the warmer winds have begun to blow...what little snow we had has now melted off and a cold drizzle has replaced the early hopes of ice fishing and skating.
The gray dawn of morning combined with drizzle made for a slow start on a Monday morning. I feel like I am in a cocoon in my warm house with Christmas lights and the fog and drizzle encasing it...but alas, alas...meetings and luncheons and work to be done awaits for me in the grayness.
I am so reminded of Carl Sandburg's poem this morning.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Fog
Carl Sandburg 1878-1967
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