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 |
Iris She snugged white blankets around her, glad to snooze after too much fun between sunsets and fawning sun. She'd been a fragrant flirt in her youth, as enticing as a root-beer float some said. She'd flutter her bronze and copper petals. Only this frigid cold provided respite. She'd always needed months to recover. Each thaw tried to wake her; did she dare? Not yet. She returned to restless visions of last year's neighbors; wondering, would new ones move in come Spring? She'd have to wait through freeze and thaw till bright beams burned through drifting dreams. Then, stretching her long green arms, she'd bloom. © Kåre Enga [176.20] (4.april.2019) From the Dew Drop Inn prompt: fitful sleep. Note: there are various root-beer scented iris (a memory of my childhood), Inca Chief among them. 100.811 |