As I look out my window, I am reminded of this old poem by Carl Sandburg:
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Took the train down to the Merchandise Mart this afternoon and had Curry Chicken (from LaiLai Oriental Express) in the food court there... the place was unusually crowded, some convention or something... then walked the five miles home in the steady, light-to-moderate rain.
I usually hate walking in the rain, but for some reason I found it very therapeutic today.
Surfed the internet for awhile, then watched my soap and "Rescue Me" on cable... and now here I am on the computer again.
Been brooding lately -- a little too much, perhaps -- about certain friends who have repeatedly disappointed me over the years.
And that is all.
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