Fog in and around my neighborhood this morning reminded me of this batch, written Feb. 16, a really foggy day this year:

Haiku rolling in
Blotting out any hope for
Some good poetry

I feel a kinship
With the fog rolling in as
I too am quite dense

I am so foggy
I can’t remember when it
Last was this foggy

In NYC, sure,
But strange to be in KC
When that foghorn blows

And forget the knife
Better get out the chainsaw
To cut this baby

Like the fog, cliches
Can be as thick as pea soup
This kind of weather

We’ll have our breakdown
Right here, thanks; no need to get
To Foggy Mountain

Stevie Nicks could dig
Witchy, misty atmosphere
Fit for a Welsh bog

Like a shot of hootch
Fog makes many things blurry
Around the edges

“How’d you like that wrapped?
“In guilt? Confusion? Some angst?”
“No, I’ll take the fog”