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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 |
| Kindness ... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ... has many names Today, write about an experience that wowed you. When was the last time your jaw fell open? Where were you the last time you felt awe and admiration? As best you can, share your experience in a way that your blog reader can feel the same wonder you felt. Recipient of: ![Merit Badge in Aloha
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I really appreciated reading your entries in the Unofficial June Summer Sprint for the [Link To Item #30DBC] ! Especially your final entry where you spoke so eloquently about an act of Aloha. I love this quote: “clothed by oaks and populated with deer, ticks and turkey.” Great imagery! I also wanted to thank you for commenting so regularly on other’s blogs *^*Heart*^* You are a joy to have in the competition!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Aloha-2171989_14.gif) earlierblog Tahlequah speaks in the soft cadence of Cherokee. The Creek burbles over stones where crawfish hide in Sequoyah Park. July's sun fries me as I sit along its cooling banks. I stay in a motel hoping I can find a job and a place to live before my money runs out. I'm invited to visit Sparrow Hawk Village overlooking the Illinois River, a community of esoteric Christians clothed by oaks and populated with deer, ticks and turkey. I'm not interested in joining but the people are nice. I explain my situation. I need healing. I'm introduced to Donna, a Choctaw with three children living with a rottweiler in a trailer. She decides to take me in. Lord knows why. My white Volvo, loaded with scraps of a life, heads north on Route 82A past the post office in Moodys, down the winding shady canopy of Long John Hill where I'll know what's hiding by the day's roadkill. I cross Spring Creek with it's dry bed of flint rock waiting for the deluge to revive it. Three trailers sit below the road. Donna lives in the middle one: three bedrooms with a kitchen on the south-west end. I move into a tiny room and I pack my belongings in the closet. The air conditioning freezes me. I am thankful. I have arrived in Teresita a nowhere place with an old cemetery where pillars engraved with aguyuh rest covered with lichen. There's not much else. I take a walk. So much is hidden in rocky crevices by green that no one disturbs. The scissor tailed fly catchers and crows cross my path. Occasional gunfire pierces the quiet. I need quiet. Kindness has many names here. May my healing begin. Written at the request of Connie, the flash non-fiction is found at:
102.804 |
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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!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Reviewing-2180.gif)
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.