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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 |
| Alchemy Trees raise their arms in praise, silhouetted by an orange glow. I'm too slow to catch it with my camera. A thousand sunsets come and gone and now forgotten. I catch what I can. Like hugs. They're free and I'm always grateful. At the end of many a dull day the setting fireball has turned all to gold then copper. I watch the cooling treasure sinking into the abyss beyond the far horizon. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.132] (2.juni.2021) |
| Joy left behind The flower I plucked sits in a vase wafting its fragrance towards me. It doesn't know that it's dead, doesn't care that I killed it. ii The sun sets caressing emergent leaves, lighting up slopes with orange tinted fingers. Soon the sky darkens, turning navy and puce. iii This day, the only day we live, will die with its passing, unaware of the joy it gives and leaves behind in the dying flower that it birthed. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.131] (1.juni.2021) |
| Flight of a day They embark above the locust tree, bask in your rays an hour before you set, unaware that they will not see you dawn. Their lives are short as gold turns vermillion and swallows swoop in their hunt. Somewhere in a warmer clime a nighthawk screeches and bats begin to wing their flight. But what is this to them? They live for the day, the sunset glow, this moment that lasts a lifetime. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.130.s] (31.mai.2021) |
| Last rays As rays part the sky and turn the mountain into gold, a fiery globe bids good night as we move away spinning eastwoard on our own axis. It will greet us at the dawn when we awake. One more dawning of one more day to be warmed by its rays. One more lament that your life goes on without me. Would that I could send a message on the photons — i love you i love you i love you — repeating every dawn. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.129] (29.mai.2021) |
| Locust Tattered, torn and yet the flag still rises — limp. Traffic crosses the bridge with a rumble, softer at sunset. Under an orange-gold sky the yellow green leaves do not notice the passing of the day. Unlike me they feel tomorrow in a waft of air or rising sap — budding another baby leaf to live its life. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.128] (28.mai.2021) |
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