Enough small empty boxes thrown into a big empty box fill it full. - Carl Sandburg

I will be back soon if not sooner and when I come back I will return.

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on.

When the rose’s flash to the sunset
Reels to the wrack and the twist,
And the rose is a red bygone,
When the face I love is going
And the gate to the end shall clang,
And it’s no use to beckon or say, “So long” — Maybe I’ll tell you then — some other time.