Project 349: Little Cat Feet, My Eye

Carl Sandburg wasn't in Seattle when he wrote his poem. This fog is ice fog. Visibility was two car lengths at best. And, unlike in Carl's poem, this fog doesn't move on. It will take hours to burn off once the sun rises.

Here is Carl's poem, in case you were wondering:

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

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