The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
Whether it is the sun that burns the fog away or wind that blows it from the valleys, the fog moves on as Sandburg writes. Moving on. Sometimes it seems that you will never move on. It is easy to become stuck in the morass, clinging to false hope. Wanting to undo whatever was done so will things will be as they once were. You try to wish it away, as if it never happened. You stumble around, lost.
Like the fog, the bad stuff crept in quietly and without notice. But it will move on and your heart will lift up again. You will smile again and laugh. You will breathe deeply once more. You will plan things. You will break through and life will be good. It will happen not in a loud ah ha moment but silently and purposefully as little cat steps.
My Second Act, Scene One 