L'aura del Campo

"Crême de la crême" and "A bowl of water"

Crême de la crême from Hourglass

They cut shade trees, remove benches, resurface ledges with nails or jagged glass. Go away! they say. You are not one of us. No welcome here.

Oriole sits in a corner of the café, sipping his oolong tea. He observes the latté crowd hurrying in and out. No one bothers him. They are the crême de la crême — according to them. Their bosses know better, the ones who come in wearing understated bling: a diamond watch, a designer purse, a certain look of certitude that projects "we rule the world" etched on their brow. With piercing eyes one turns his way — and looks right through him.

© Kåre Enga [175.247] 6.october.2018

A bowl of water from Ingrid Fossensdatter

The parting of the mist brings forth form. Their tails swish in a hush. The huldra gather beneath the quiet birch and pine. Two then four. No one speaks. They few who have survived hidden now step into the circle of light that Ingrid has brought with her. She holds out a bowl of glacial-melt water. Each sips in turn then slowly slips back into shadow. One small step has been sealed by ritual. They'll come back next year and Ingrid knows that they'll sip longer then sit in silence, if only for a short while.

© Kåre Enga [175.246] 6.oktober.2018

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