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 |
Inhaling indigo Embers are all that remain of your ashes, sparks that reach heavenward to empty skies as moons of a thousand planets bear silent witness to my cries. I miss your voice, Zmitri, I miss your lies... about how well I'd carry on without you, about how time would gentle fly. Did you want to soothe this bruise of dying, remind me we are more than flesh left rotting, more than just the Artist and the Muse. When we last danced together, which was I; which was you? All existence forever remains connected for atoms split then recombine. How long will I have to wait my friend before I touch your face again. How many more deaths will I have to die. 'Til then, I'll rejoice each time I inhale indigo, each time I swim in a patch of clear sky blue. I'm used to beseeching the universe, Zmitri; I'd rather share my thoughts with you. © Kåre Enga [19.november.2016] In Missoula after watching "En man som heter Ove". |