Carl Sandburg
I think of this poem nearly every time I see the fog. So simple, yet so evocative. I was in a production of The World of Carl Sandburg many moons ago, and it was a lovely experience. Consequently, I can recite great swaths of his poetry at the drop of a hat – all these years later. My great friend from my school and theater days back in my hometown was in it with me. He died several years ago, much too young.
A melancholy memory on a foggy morning,
Today will be rain-free, then more rain tomorrow. And on it will go, throughout the week ahead.
I’ve been informed that two newly published books that I had on hold have arrived at my library, much sooner than I expected. Suddenly, I will have to scramble to finish The Heist by Daniel Silva, so I can read the new arrivals in the 14 days allotted to me. I read a big chunk of the Silva this morning. Fortunately, they’re fast-paced thrillers, which surely helps.
Did anyone see the Northern Lights? Nothing here, but it was cloudy last night and we were told not to expect anything than the occasional green flash of light. In the brief time I observed the sky, there were no flashes. I’ll have to check the neighborhood Facebook page to see if anyone around here saw them.
I saw them once when I was a camp counselor working in northern Michigan. We were on an overnight with our campers – my fellow counselor on the overnight was my boyfriend at the time. They were stunning. That would have been the summer of 1972.
Oh, to be young again!
Stay safe.
Happy Saturday.
