The fog comes
on little cat feet.

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

-Carl Sandburg


after lots of rain we're socked in.
i'm not sure, exactly, that i want it to go away.
there's something comforting in the closeness of this hazy air.

but the foghorn sounds its warning endlessly.

Whales of Superior
Loose low and resonant calls
Nosing frozen sky

i came home wednesday night and stopped dead in my tracks on the way to the door.
the air was filled with a dense crackling.
like the rattling of dried beetle husks or empty nutshells, but with the weight and crashing density of boulders.
raw and violent, it was the heaving lake joining ice with ice.
with each rolling wave, the water fracturing and bursting into countless tiny fragments of itself.