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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| An elegy for Katya You read my daily thoughts that wander lost among the dead I once wrote about, now saddened by doubts that I cannot leave caught by the weave of life yet tired beyond exhaustion. I'm not fond of staying, just praying, that I may still be of some use. Maybe I'm being obtuse. Should someone hold me, I'd hug them back for free; if not, please let me know so I can go and wander lost until I shed this dross. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.45] (14.april.2021) I've written alot about death. Being homeless meant witnessing death. "A radiant moon has set"  "Byron Lynn" "Knowing it lies beyond" "Picking up the trash" "Dream a bigger dream" But not only the homeless die. "The sound of lavender" "Joseph's Coat" "In a twinkling [#11 Robert French]" A friend wanted me to write from the mouse's perspective. "Of mice, owls and moonflowers" And there's always famous people. "Scotty's last lament (James Doohan)" "You always knew how to fly [366]" I may have to make this into an item. For:
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