Ann-Christine’s challenge this week immediately brought to mind the softness of fog and gentle rains mentioned in poems by two of my favorite American authors. In the photo above, fog and mist crept in quietly as a cat — unexpectedly yet swiftly — forcing the surfer on St. George Island, Florida, to “hang it up” early.
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over city and harbor on silent haunches and then moves on. Carl Sandburg
In another example, I looked out early one morning to see Knoxville totally “socked in.” Hurriedly, I drove to Lake Loudon close to the UT campus to see “what the cat dragged in.” Fog, of course, covering bridges and overpasses and softly blanketing the waters below.
Rain, too, can be soft. And forgiving. Poet Sara Teasdale reminds us in her prophetic poem that nature, ignoring man’s foibles, can stealthily but steadily go about its work as if nothing has happened. Photos from a gentle rain this week in Knoxville seem to be a fitting tribute.
There Will Come Soft Rains
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white, Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone. Sara Teasdale