"The fog comes on little cat feet."
This line from the poem Fog by Carl Sandburg comes to mind any time I wake to a morning like this one. Here is a look out my window with fog hovering over the swamp.
It is soft and quiet, and moves as stealthly as a cat.
Fog takes the hard edges off the world for a while. It was a serene and peaceful way to start my day!
The fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city,
On silent haunches and then moves on.