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.
