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 LV 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 |
Two islands And the islands shrugged their shoulders the waters flowing out in a rush. Did they seek a better place? They took everything when they moved out. Left only the beaches suspended in the heights. Dry bare ridges, still dry, still bare. Has it been a thousand years? Below, where their waists meet the river where the flow that divides them wanders between the hair of the willow, the billow of Balm of Gilead gone to seed, the bloom of camas and arrow-root balsam, indigo and gold, spare sustenance for strange new animals that live in skins, that now raise new mountains to gather like ants in an anthill. When will the waters return? Cloud tears join in their plight, bright snow gathering between dark pines, promise that the deep cold lake will return and they will be islands once more. © Kåre Enga [21.januar.2017] Note: Mt. Jumbo and Mt. Sentinel were islands in Ice Age Lake Missoula... a few years ago. |