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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
   L'aura del campo 'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos' ♣ Federico García Lorca ♣  L'aura del campo. A breeze in the meadow. So it began the last day of Spring, 2005; on the 16th day of the month of Light of the year 162. This is a supplement to my daily journal written to a friend, my muse; notes I do not share. Here I will share what the breeze has whispered to me. PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS! I L  V COMMENTS!On a practical note, in answer to your questions: IN MEMORIUM VerySara  passed away November 12, 2005 Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings. More suggested links:  These pictures rotate.   Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
| I miss the red wine communists, the smoky rooms with piles of yellowed books. —Anna Lisa And she did. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep and her skin jaundiced from too little... It didn't matter. She had a story to write even if she had to tell her own. A boring headache that would be, she sighed. Then put pen to blank page and began to doodle. A few lines here and there signifying nothing. But it was her tale not theirs. Theirs were told by famous people, pressed between pages like dead roses or translucent poppies. Old stories; sad stories. Almost as boring as hers but she wasn't sitting on the shelf molding. At least, not yet. She intended to get there some day. Pages stained by wine or coffee, corners frayed by readers who could not stop. She'd settle for that. Even if they were tainted pink from faded red. Even if "they" were fascist... but why would one of them ever read about her. She wasn't powerful nor into controlling others. She had nothing to offer them. She missed those red wine communists, those rosé socialists, even those cigar smoking writers with their piles of yellowed tomes. © Kåre Enga [1.juli.2016] Inspired by the quote above made by Anna Lisa. 79,829 |
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