On Little Cat Feet

Fog     by Carl Sandburg

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

 

We walked
one evening
hand in hand,
watched the children run like playful puppies.

Cool air,
gray sky,
(but no rain)
flowers all around.

In that moment
I noticed
that I was happy.

Entirely.

Perhaps, like fog,
happiness comes
on little cat feet.
Silently padding across the floor
of my heart.