Through the Fog

"Truth is the torch that gleams through the fog without dispelling it." (Claude Adrien Helvetius (1715-1771)

It is very foggy this morning and fog always makes me think of Carl Sandburg's poem, Fog.

Fog

The fog comes

on little cat feet

it sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

I have used this poem before. I believe I first heard it as a pupil at Jasper #2 when our teacher read it to us.

But here is another Carl Sandburg poem. This is one that I don't recall reading/hearing before today.

 

Under The Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon, 
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker, 
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

 Under the summer roses 
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories, 
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

To quote Om Malik - "I like the muted sounds, the shroud of grey, and the silence that comes with the fog."

I'm just glad I don't have to drive in it.