by: Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
It was a quiet weekend. The Country Boy has turned into Mountain Man and was off on his annual expedition. The girls were away. It was just Riley, Nala and me.
So there was plenty of time to walk. And walk. And walk. (Clearly, Riley doesn’t mind it so much when everyone else is away…)
I was able to get my phone to stream radio, which allowed me to listen in on NPR while out this morning. There’s something about Bob Edward’s voice that I find very enjoyable, so our walk was even further than normal. Trust me, Riley didn’t mind.
One of the guests on the show was talking about the Carl Sandburg documentary that will air on PBS tomorrow. Over the course of the discussion, his poem that I copied above – FOG – was read.
I thought that it was completely appropriate for the morning, given that there was fog lifting up from the countryside. Riley took offense to the cat reference (“Must Nala always be the Queen?” his eyes seemed to say). So I told him that I’d let him have this space to rewrite the famous poem from his point of view. Here’s what he gave me:
by Carl Sandburg as adapted by Riley
The fog rose up
like the ball the dog was chasing.
Over fields and farms.
Starting off kissing the grass, then rising into the air
until it disappears (into the mouth of the dog).
Hey, Riley, that’s not too shabby. I might need to give you a poetry corner on here… Of course, the mules might get jealous and demand that they get a flat panel TV in the barn. Plus, you better watch out for that ninja cat. She was in a pouncing position while you were typing…