Like a bird on the wire, Like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free. Like a worm on a hook, Like a knight from some old fashioned book I have saved all my ribbons for thee. If I, if I have been unkind, I hope that you…
On Little Cat Feet in Seattle
Carl Sandburg’s metaphor of fog creeping in “on little cat feet” over the harbor and sky is 21 words of descriptive perfection. But, it wasn’t this gentle, pitter-patter idea of fog that formed me. It was a more treacherous fog, the fog of the mire, the one shrouding fantastical and coal-black specters: The cloud was…
