The morning began with fog...it "comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on" (Fog, Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967).
Soon the sun was out and coming through the cedars and firs.
Stop, stop and listen for the bough top
Is whistling and the sun is brighter
Than God's own shadow in the cup now!
(The Blackbird of Derrycairn, Austin Clarke, 1896-1974)