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 |
Clouds in your coffee for... Your unlocked door only opens inward. Rugs are worn with your daily pace from chair to kitchen garden to bed. You drain your coffee cup, pour another. As close to Kenya as you've ever been: dark, unsweetened, earthy. Clouds swirl in their reflection between sips — You dream about how life continues beyond these walls. You watch deer pass at dawn and dusk, hear flickers peck away at wood, once a week waiting for a van and a cheerful greeting from ...Amanda? as she lets herself in. You look at piles of mysteries, old guide books, the newest from the bestseller's list. You rest with a blanket covering your empty lap. In the silence since Simon was put to sleep you hear the march of ant-troops, each rain-drop's cry, the weeping of pines, the cedar's sigh. In the morning you lift a sash to let the day enter. Every night, you notice how those blackberries seem to be closing in. © Kåre Enga (20.aprille.2019) [176.50] Dew Drop Inn prompt: clouds 101.264 |