Fog

It’s been one of those lovely Vancouver winter days where the whole morning harbour is shrouded in fog.I know it’s advection fog (a left-over term from a geography course) and I love to watch it move in and settle on the water. There’s very little to be seen so I close my eyes and listen. Fog horns are sounding, the gulls are shrieking, metal rigs are clanking against boat masts. Somewhere in the harbour a sea plane’s engine starts to rumble and my breath swirls the white haze around me.Then, as the sun begins to rise and warm I can see the shore birds backlit by the weak sun.A few more minutes and more of the harbour comes into view.But the sun is determined and soon the magic begins to evaporate.Mornings like today I think on my favorite little poem, a Carl Sandburg poem; the first one my children learned to recite.

The fog comeson little cat feet.It sits lookingover harbour and cityon silent haunchesand then moves on.