Something about dusk and cat’s feet stirs my lit-major brain, but I cannot recall what the quote is that is niggling at my thoughts, whispering and then hiding. So much of what I think about when writing is like that: glimpses, soft sounds, light seen through a curtained window, spring rain against dusty glass.
I'm thinking T.S.Eliot. I could be wrong but it is such an evocative line that it has always stayed in my head.
ReplyDeleteBarb
In the room the women come and go
ReplyDeleteTalking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
This is the one I was thinking of. Wrong poet, wrong quote, right content! Total cat, total T.S. Eliot. The little cat feet is perhaps Carl Sandburg?
Barb
Memories of literature class -- Carl Sandburg. The fog creeps in on little cat feet. It sit on silent haunches, Looking over harbor and city, And then moves on.
ReplyDelete