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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/day/5-7-2019
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #982524
Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation.
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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:

Visitor's Center of Woolaroc in Oklahoma, Osage Nation. Tribute to Native America.
These pictures rotate.



 Kåre *Leaf5* Enga
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
The Fish
May 7, 2019 at 12:52am
May 7, 2019 at 12:52am
#958437
Art took lithium to maintain a balance so he could work. It made him less flexible and eventually killed him, I'm sure. But that's what meds do. I prefer not to take drugs. I embrace my craziness and make sure it doesn't get in the way. But then, I don't work.

Oh... you meant creative art?

Yes, ART is creative, whether subjective or objective. For me, I think of myself as a writer because I write. I can't sculpt. I shouldn't sing. I'm just who I am ... stuck with a Muse who thinks HE's some kind of artist.

I appreciate most artist's art, even when I don't understand it or don't think it's all that great. Every artist needs encouragement in my opinion and since I'm not a sculptor nor a singer I admire what they do.

And realize that most of them can't do what I do because my Muse is speaking to ME and not them. So much for talent... *Facepalm*

Whether you enjoy someone's art is subjective. Whether it has good technique, inspires, motivates, et cetera is more objective. Artists are better at measuring good art, but the general public knows what it likes and that subjectivity decides what art is great.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS: Little. Wrote a flash fiction. Took me about 15 minutes because I had to post it by 11 pm WDC time. 9 pm here.
IMAGES: Taste of chili, taste of meatloaf, taste of apple pie. It was a tasty day.
NEW BLOGVILLE: Just leaving comments everywhere. Don't mind the mess. Advice can easily be swept away with the trash.

"Annie, go get your rod"

She'd heard that all her life. Ann stood there in the cold water. Looked down the river at others standing off-shore. Cast her rod. Reeled it slowly in. Cast it again. The day was cloudy, just like yesterday, just like they predicted for tomorrow. She had plenty of time to think. That was the problem. Not the rod and reel, not the wary fish. She tried to meditate by breathing in the smell of spring runoff before the big melt, breathing out the stench of winter. The line became taut. Just a snag she thought. And slowly let the water work it loose. She would love to let everything go. November's heartbreak had led to December's dilemma. Should she have moved? No, this was her home. The river ran through it. The river had always ran through it. This time the tug on the line was no snag. She reeled in a small brown trout. Too small. She unhooked it, threw it back. Fly-fishing was what had keep her sane through her marriage, would keep her sane through the divorce. She pulled back her rod, let another one fly. There were always more fish to catch and release. With that thought, the sun came out.

© Kåre Enga [176.73] (6.maio.2019)
101.546


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/day/5-7-2019