Just as Carl Sandburg said, the fog stole silently in, while were sleeping. But, unlike the rest of his poem, it isn’t likely to move on for some days.
The fog brought a particular feel to the city, still and cold. Everyone moved more quickly, with noses and ears bundled into scarves and caps, and hands jammed into pockets or encased in gloves.
It was very nice to have this translated into English, for those of us who continue to comprehend Italian slowly.
The vaporetti had their radar working full tilt, visibility was very limited.
This might not have been a day when we paid much heed to this: