Fog

Carl Sandburg poem FOG, Carl Sandburg National Historic Site

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

I have always loved this simple poem by Carl Sandburg, one of my favorite poets. I used to spend a lot of time at his home-place in Flat Rock, NC, near Hendersonville. Sandburg was not born in Flat Rock, but he spent the last 22 years of his life writing and enjoying the vast views that surrounded his home on the 30 acre estate which has been expanded to over 200 breathtaking acres that includes ponds, over thirty structures, and 5 miles of hiking trails. Mrs. Sandburg kept prized goats as a hobby and the federal government declared the goats a historic herd; At least fifteen dairy herd are always on hand. Visitors can tour the home, long a national historic site, with park officials or wander the grounds. Take a lunch and enjoy both history and the natural world in one trip.

Though these photos were taken in West Virginia, the elegant words of Sandburg's short poem are the first thing that pop into my head whenever I come upon fog, or fog comes upon me. I wanted to dig through my negatives and find some photos from the home-place, but that will have to wait for another day. Might be faster to jump in the car and make another trip. Umm? Tempting.