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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/month/11-1-2019
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #982524
Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation.
*Smile*          *Bigsmile*          *Cool*

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:

Before the strom, Bushton's water tower.
These pictures rotate.



 Kåre *Leaf5* Enga
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
The Fish
November 28, 2019 at 12:33pm
November 28, 2019 at 12:33pm
#970616
The flag waves gently with the breeze. Earlier it hung limp.

This valley epitomizes the worse of both worlds. Hell Gate winds that howl from the east bring cold or snow or no-good-news. But at least they clear out the inversion that settles in when there's no wind. These mountains hold us in their ancient wrinkled hands and won't let go.

Cold to bitter-cold in December. Choked with smoke most every August.

It's November and the grey is settling in for its winter nap.

We've been fortunate to have some bright clear days this autumn. Fortunate that the early September frost and snow and the bitter cold in October didn't claim us. Fortunate that football season has been extended one more weekend.

This town dies once its students leave. Soon. The snowbirds fly south shortly after the students. It's the yearly migration of wealth and good looks. By mid-December only we who are ghosts of ghosts remain.

The lumpy mountains don't mind. The bears are asleep. The elk would prefer us to leave... permanently.

A few of us gathered last night on the eve of Thanksgiving. Not everyone has family to attend to...

We are fortunate to still be here.

103.363
November 14, 2019 at 3:52pm
November 14, 2019 at 3:52pm
#969635
I wrote two flash fictions. "From Norway with Love 12nov2019 (294w) and "Night Heron Shift Change 13.11.19 [300w].

Angus has been kind to review both but I told him:

"Thank-you for your kind review. I'll need to add, now that the daily contest is past, that it's based on the account of a friend who knows lots about birds. It's a highly fictionalized account of a true event.

I do have a degree in biology (flowers not birds) ... which helps ... and I spend lots of time observing people and places when I travel which also helps. As a poet I try to include the senses.

One problem... I don't seem to know quite how to write flash fiction. This is more of a vignette than true flash. There isn't much of a hook and action narrative isn't my forté. But it gets me writing. *Smile*"


So... I need help writing flash fiction!

In other good news:

I neglected my journal for 3 weeks! But, I'm now back to daily musings and scribbles. I'm on page 5,072.

I have put most of my postcards I sent on-line at facebook (cropped, addresses not showing, to... first name only). I'm slowly transcribing them here.

I had a daydream about becoming so spread out that folks could see right through me. Need to pursue this.

There isn't enough time left for me to ever catch up, so I just need to focus on doing something every day.
103,291








November 9, 2019 at 9:31pm
November 9, 2019 at 9:31pm
#969345
Parrots in Amsterdam or was it Istanbul? Tulips all the same... and pink daffodils. Purple cherry blossoms in Taipei and cosmos in Zhunan. The flame-of-the-forest vermilion above the unrelenting green in San José in winter...

...where you met one boyfriend but didn't abandon the others.

Too much beauty to embrace in one short hour. How did one day turn into a week among the gardens of the Balkans, the marigolds of autumn gracing old stones in plots where bones long ago returned to soil.

The Living and the Dead.

You move between both worlds where sunlight urges you to make haste and nighttime begs you to rest. And what to make of the gossamer petals of poppies?

How you migrate from one flower to the next.

© Kåre Enga [176.xxx] (9.november.2019)
November 7, 2019 at 8:20pm
November 7, 2019 at 8:20pm
#969213
The limp flag caressed his thin hair as he ambled along his way down the sidewalk. He didn't mind. His father had been a veteran. Came back injured. But alive. No one in his family wanted to see another war. No one exalted flag draped bodies anymore.

The sun warmed his bald spot and invited him to keep walking, encouraged every plodding step. He crossed the intersections carefully. He no longer had the legs to jump out of the way of the impatient. He practiced patience, a virtue he had often heard about but had never met as a youth.

When he passed the Peace Center a stray thought entered his mind. "Peace is more than an end to War." He had spent years working on that, had friends among almost every marginalized population he had ever met. And having traveled he had met most
any human imaginable.

"We are One," he whispered. It was not a radical idea but walls were listening and the enemies of peace were everywhere. Why did people lie about each other? Why was it necessary to have demons to fight? Couldn't everyone just get along? No, Rodney King, we can't. But he wasn't giving up.

He knew his days were numbered. He knew the owls were whispering his name to the winds. But he wanted to see some peace before he gave in. Not until his last hair left his head would he ever give in.

103.274


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/982524-Laura-del-Campo/month/11-1-2019