On this day in literature . . .
I think of this poem by Sandburg whenever there's a foggy morning.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I’ve read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So, goodnight, dear void."
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