L'aura del Campo

Walk right past

When the bus drives by
salute those who take its ride
aware of eternity
or not ...KE



Walk right past

He's just another guy, a backpack trudging across this bridge, dressed in traveler's colors. You don't know how long he's walked, but getting here may have taken all he's got. Crossing over these thawing water's not just some joyful jaunt. His destination?

Would that you could've locked into those empty eyes and asked. Would that you could've given him a ride!

But no, there you jog, headed across this bridge and pointed south, his back long out-of-sight, shuffling somewhere north.

you glance
walk right past
don't ask

© Kåre Enga 2011-03-17 [167.381.GZ]



I glanced at this guy coming across the bridge. He seemed focused on some distant point, whether somewhere beyond me or inside himself I'll never know. I stopped, looked back, then took a picture of a heron fishing in the river. Began writing this prose-poem on the bridge. It'll join my collection of haibun-like "gzaibun".



I get inspired by reading ...yes, but last night it was listening to an essay on mustangs. There are many pathways open to inspiration.

38º ...could be warmer ...just saying.

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