Publisher's Synopsis
Fog
The fog comes inOn little cat feet
And sits on haunches
Over looking the harbour
And then moves on.
- Carl Sandburg The Fogg Museum has paperweights.
They wait for you to hold them in your hand.
Their beauty has not diminished with age.
Paper just waits to be written upon.
A page just waits to be turned.
The weight of a page,
The weight of a time,
But fog is weightless waitless
Like the tide waiting weightless with foam for no man.
Weights wait to be lifted.
One's soul waits to be nourished
As we wait the cesium atom quivers,
Quivers full of outrageous arrows slung with kismet
Painting out paths the future may take.
While you wait, weighted with your past,
As Metallica bids you "Turn the Page"
I bid you: Why Wait? Read and savor Swans of the Boundary Waters
By Linda Marie Hilton
