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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 |
| Menders Their DNA betrays them. Born with a giggle, a smile, warm eyes they thrive. Since life became more than rocks, bark or brains, they connected us beings into communities that vibrated with music shared from hymns within. But what was wrought soon lay like writhing snakes rent into us-es and thems: the "isms" of color, of gender, of height, wealth, of knowledge, spasming our peace. They still smile as they sew with threads, giggle while they weave and mend, warm eyes shining with kindness. Since the Dawn of Time they've rebuilt bridges to span the "isms" that chasm between us. © Kåre Enga [174.32] (14.abril.2017) |
| Thimbleful She calls to hear his voice two thousand smiles away beyond time zones, moonscapes, mountains; yet, with whom to share her joy? No one. She speaks rapidly pours two gallons of sweet lies, a droplet of pent up grief, ten spoons of honey into a cup for one. She drinks, inhales his words, vows to always hold on to his laughter, remembers when hanging up to cap her thimble of joy. © Kåre Enga [174.31] (13.abril.2017) |
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