Little cat feet

Somewhere there is a poem about fog and cat feet, quiet comings and goings.

The Fog did not pad in on little cat feet. Frost's ethereal elder sister steamed in. This was no shy, romantic mist, but a crushing wall of cold, white consolidated wispiness. Fog rolled into be reckoned with. Temperatures have dropped 20 - 30 degrees. I probably no longer need the mylar safety blanket taped to the windows around my desk. [Probably best that the neighbors don't think we're running a weedfarm on the living room carpet anyhow]. I'm a little sad at the ending of our little heat wave.

I was just getting used to the warmth, coming to terms with weather that invites naked feet and flirty dresses. I pulled out my one pair of shorts and wore them to the thrift store where I purchased a light weight button down that will probably see three wearings this year. I was recalling how nice it feels to have windows open and to walk about in comfortable clothing instead of swathed nose to toes in polar fleece. How good it feels to have my drink chilling my fingers instead of vice versa.

Anyhow, graduation is 9 days and counting. I have 3 exams in the next three days. I still have a pulse, so it can't be all bad.