Fog

"The fog comes on little cat feet."

The snow, at least for now, has been replaced with fog and milder temperatures in Bermtopia. And I like it. A lot.

Not so everyone. We've been engaged in an ongoing debate here at work: Which is worse -- the fog or snow? Some friends now "miss" the snow (even though there's still plenty to go around) and wax poetic about it with an almost "last days of summer" nostalgia. Puh-leeze.

"It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches"

I like the intimacy of fog. And it's insulation. I like the anticipation it creates -- knowing a favorite landmark is out there, but not knowing just when exactly you'll see it. Fog blurs reality and softens sharp edges. I like that, too.

"and then moves on." *

Maybe that's the best part -- the moment it moves on. The one particular moment when the neighborhood is finally illuminated with light. Sweet, pure light that's welcomed on this winter day.

* Poem by Carl Sandburg