As I write this post the world outside is claustrophobic. We have dense fog!
The temps have soared to the 80's F, and airco has replaced heating. Guess it is time to put away the woolens. Even my Dutch hub is ready to put away the sweaters and jackets. But air conditioning can get a little chilly sometimes, so the sweaters will not be far away.
Last night at 10 pm when Flip and I went out to check for "spooks," the fragrance from the honeysuckle behind our red barn was intoxicating. I actually looked forward to the aroma this morning when letting Flip out, but the fog seemed to have smothered the smell as well as the sun.
This all reminds me of one of my favorite poems.
FOG (by Carl Sandburg)
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.