Fog, and poetry

Another warm day is on deck. We're supposed to get thunder boomers later. Here is a photo that always makes me feel cool:

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.

 The fog bank rolled in to Machiasport Jasper Beach, Maine. It is a foggy area, the foggiest in the US practically. Nearby Lubec has that distinction. Fog is quiet. Fog is mysterious. Fog cools without drenching.

I miss fog. I really miss foghorns.

Here is one foggy photo I took here in GA. It is of a foggy morning in my backyard-

And this is the side yard:

The Sun and Fog contested
By Emily Dickinson

The Sun and Fog contested

The Government of Day –

The Sun took down his Yellow Whip

And drove the Fog away –

Good old car!

I love my car. It is an SUV, Ford Explorer. I bought it when it had 181,000 miles on it, four years ago. It still runs. I haven't had a lot of problems with it, except for a few minor things a while ago. The last year and a half I have had no problems with it. Knock wood. I hope by saying all this that it will not suddenly poop out on me and leave me stranded. I do rely on my car. I mean, who doesn't?

It passed a milestone the other day. I was driving home from the grocery store and it turned 211,111.1 miles on the odometer. I liked all the ones, so I stopped to take a photo.

Good old American car!

Yesterday morning was gorgeous. The weather has been warm but not hot, and the nights with windows open just cool enough to warrant one slim blanket. I noticed the ground fog was lifting over the hayfield next door, so I snapped a couple of quick photos to commemorate the beautiful moment. The birds were happy, chirping away. My cats like the cool and refreshing weather too. nice morning.

I love the rural mornings around here.