This morning I walked in a fog. I mean a literal fog. To be in a fog has such connotations. Foggy headed, meandering, forgetful. But the fog I walked in was beautiful, if damp, and the birds seemed to love it. The moisture in the air means they don't need to drink out of mud puddles.
On the river here the fog settles in the morning and then rises as the sun does revealing its bed of water. You can't even see the Palisades. But I'm drinking up that fog and thinking about the Jesus Prayer for some reason. "Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Early Christians from the sixth century on believed that its ceaseless repetition leads to inner stillness. I tried for a bit on my walk, but became too interested in watching the brilliant cardinals darting in and out of the green in the fog.
The fog of war seems to be mounting with this political regime, but I much prefer the poetics of fog. From T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:
On the river here the fog settles in the morning and then rises as the sun does revealing its bed of water. You can't even see the Palisades. But I'm drinking up that fog and thinking about the Jesus Prayer for some reason. "Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Early Christians from the sixth century on believed that its ceaseless repetition leads to inner stillness. I tried for a bit on my walk, but became too interested in watching the brilliant cardinals darting in and out of the green in the fog.
The fog of war seems to be mounting with this political regime, but I much prefer the poetics of fog. From T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
FOG
Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please tell me what good thing you encountered today.