Misty December Morn

When Carl Sandburg wrote, “The fog comes on little cat feet,” he obviously didn’t know my cat Izzy who comes barreling into a room with leaps and bounds. But maybe he did know Molly, who quietly and gracefully enters the room...but then lets out an angry cry to let you know she’s there and waiting for her breakfast.

The fog did come silently and then moved on this December 9th. The mist hung in the air, giving a sense of mystery and Irish charm to the garden that morning. Little wispy clouds of fog ran through the dried stems of purple coneflowers and along the paths in the kitchen garden.

The flower garden.

Foggy morning.

The undulating branches of the wisteria tree.