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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 |
| I often write down senses. And many of my poems and short stories are sensual. Earlier I recorded this: pen, ink and rose petals; smell of carnations; furry geranium leaf; sound of tango music; orange-yellow double-daffs; sweet taste of goat-cheese. But... now I'm supposed to list hear, smell and feel... outside! 2 minutes outside at Twilight? What if the vampires get me? Tonight is First Friday and the hunting should be good. Earlier, I visited 5 places around the block here. I barely had enough energy to do that; my energy levels come and go. I'll mention this again when I see the doctor but tests always come back "normal". So, my feeble fight with the prompt: I'm going deaf. So: roof exhaust; roar of traffic; hush of traffic; chatter. Inside: sizzle of frying fish. What I can see but cannot hear: flap of the flag; roar of the river; flight of a small bird. My smeller doesn't work well either. When my aunt became old she could only smell burning onions. I'm getting there. Strong smelly foods don't bother me as much as before. So: fresh air. Inside: fish. What I can see but not smell: snow melt in the mountains; a sunset orange and mauve. Feel? The air from the ceiling fan; heat of a pan lid; cold soapy water. I admit this isn't much but it's what I have to offer. ACCOMPLISHMENTS: Put April 3rd and 4th journal entries on-line for future editing. Did get out to Senior Center and later for a short while to see the art exhibits of First Friday. Reading. Cooking. NEW BLOGVILLE: Not all of us are connected to a recorded past. Some of us come from families that don't look back or from families that hide the truth or families that just don't tell stories. Hard prompt. I'm keeping up with my blog reading. I appreciate those who visit me in return. Constellation of Two Otters We bind our bodies to each other, sleep like otters hand-in-hand. It's easy to get lost in this universe, not so easy to search the slime and sands to find you again. I'm not resigned to separation. I hold fast to what time we have. When quakes and quagmires unbalance me and blindness replaces the light, I'll fight to turn back the hands-of-time, remember how we floated off together as if you were forever mine. © Kåre Enga (2.mai.2019) [176.70.zm] |
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.