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Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #982524
Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation.
*Delight*          *Bigsmile*          *Wink*

L'aura del campo


'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣


Higgins Street Bridge, April 25th  2009, Missoula, Montana


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*Flower2*V*Flower2* COMMENTS!

On a practical note, in answer to your questions:

Gifts from NOVAcatmando kiyasama alfred booth, wanbli ska ransomme Iowegian Skye

Merit Badge in Reviewing
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For your support and suggestions on my haiku "Lone Poinsettia" which took second place in the contest and will be published.  Thanks for helping make it a winning poem! Merit Badge in Nano Winner
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CONGRATULATIONS on your achievement! *^*Bigsmile*^* Merit Badge in Reviewing
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For help finding a title for my first chapbook.  We're not there yet, but your ideas are always interesting.
Merit Badge in Funny
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Merit Badge in Friendship
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Thanks for being my friend.

Hugz! 

grannym Merit Badge in Appreciation
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For brightening my day with your delightful offerings ~ Thank you so much! *^*Heart*^*


IN MEMORIUM

VerySara

passed away November 12, 2005

Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings.
More suggested links:

Murv Jacob's rendition of Cherokee Legend: the founding of Tahlequah
These pictures rotate.



 Kåre *Leaf5* Enga
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
The Fish
April 19, 2020 at 8:08pm
April 19, 2020 at 8:08pm
#981562
Throw me a thread

I've followed crumbs —— in order to find you
but crows get there first, won't show me the way.
Pines say they know —— their whispers fade out
in the calm at the end of the day.

I arrive at your doorstep —— twenty years late.
I knock —— and only hear echoes of laughter.
I want to join in but windows are shut,
doors locked, bones hanging from rafters.

I am lost in your labyrinth, caught in your web,
pricked by roses —— pruned to leave thorns.
To show the way in, throw me a thread
I'll wait here —— ravaged and torn.

KE [177.41] (19.april.2020)
104.099





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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/day/4-19-2020