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 |
Missing the high notes His flute lays silent above two abused maracas. No soft caress, no tug of breath, will make it sing of youth, spring to salute each bulging bag-pipe passing by... ignoring him. He's sung his last song, one screeching note... long months ago... and all alone... not even a friendly timpani to pound along. He no longer joins the local chorus of clarinets, two whiny oboes, one deep-throated bass bassoon. He misses them, their weave of melody, the ever expectant ebb and flow of harmony. They miss his descant, his dramatic pitch, his ever stiff and jaunty... piccolo. © Kåre Enga [11.september.2015] 79,268 |