Fog

"The fog comes
on little cat feet.

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

Carl Sandburg

The ferries didn't run this morning. No deliveries, no visitors, no UPS or mail. And no trips off-island. Until noon, that is. The fog has now lifted and life has resumed it's normal pace.

The carpenters at my house restoration were expecting flooring this morning. They made do with other odd jobs. At one o'clock a truck showed up with the lumber.

Little cat feet. Silent and soft and oh so gentle.

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