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Fog covers the town this morning

a not usual thing for us and thus notable.

But what shall I do with that fact besides

note it, write it down, perhaps make a poem

of the moodiness, the hiddenness, the mystery?

Love it, I suppose.  Just love it along with each

other turn of nature: the pour of rain, the fall

of snow, the sprinkling of stars, the beams of sun.

All worth noting, all worthy of love.

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