La parola da casa, Serena Piccoli

i drove through fog to work this morning, and now as i sit in my office and look out, the world is covered. being in the chicago area, i automatically think of sandburg's "Fog." i remember first reading it back in elementary school, and even though we were not required to learn it, the words are burned into my memory. even more, on a moring like this one, everything becomes symbolic. like baudelaire, i look at the field of symbols before me in an attempt to understand something. for example, just a few minutes ago as i was walking outside, through the fog came a tree full of many birds screaming (singing they were not). why were they screaming? and why did they emerge so slowly from the fog just as i was about to enter a door? what should i have realized before starting work?