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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "Zmitri" "Glice" "Between us" "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" "Drugs sold here" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page" "Guitarman, a gift for Gary. Aaron Marable's art." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| Portugal is stone and tiles. There are ruins everywhere. In Braga the train station has the remains of a pre-Roman bath. The Greeks of the day wrote about them. Newer ruins are everywhere. Buildings just don't burn down. They sag. Windows gone, roofs gone, walls still solid. I'll need to write about how it affects me emotionally. But right now? Tiring day. Visited Braga by train, then got lost in the Ribeira in Porto. No energy. No appetite. Couldn't finish a meal, a francesinho (sausage, bacon, meat, cheese, egg...). Now not happy about trip to Spain, a real pain to plan. So... basically still doing so-so. Lovely gardens in Braga though and lots of tourists and visitors for Holy Week. |
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