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 |
Transition Each morning, shadows of ponderosa shrink as songbirds flit from trees to drink at moss lined pools wary of owls winging back to nests or an eagle about to soar — as between grey boulders fox kits frolic till mother calls them back to their den safely hidden in this pine-shadowed glen where soon after sunrise the night hunters rest and this day belongs to others. © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.21] (24.mars.2021) 13 lines Written for
Prompt Words: pine, trees, moss, boulders, eagle, soaring, nest, and sunrise. |
What cannot die survives in this corner of the universe where no one bothers to look i wait knowing you follow me no matter where i hide my lava quenched i huddle within this cave on the far side of a long-dead star it's lonely without you but my embers won't die out and i hear your searching for me across the void oh, zmitri, look for me deep within your heart where stars burst forth millennia before we argued © Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.5zm] (24.mars.2021) For
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