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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 |
| There comes a softening... ...to the mouth when licked by puppies, touched by laughs when a baby can no longer hold the grimace thin, stretched, shut gas must part the lips and round the corners, smile. © Kåre Enga [171.Q1] December 2014. There comes a softening... to sore feet when soaked in slats or merely placed upon a stool massaged by oils and probing fingers warm appendages of a giving heart. © Kåre Enga [171.Q2] December 2014. There comes a softening... to this flag when winds go limp and its stiffened form, worn out by wafts of blowhards welcomes that certain silence of common sense, a surviving testament that whines and wails do not prevail. © Kåre Enga [171.Q3] 17 December 2014. There comes a softening... ...to clear skies when clouds move in ...and to the rocky hills when snow descends like dandruff from my balding head bare to all the sky decrees, burning, cold or wet. © Kåre Enga [171.Q4] 18 December 2014. For you short story writers, read "Character is more important than achievement"  . Joy  has great advice. |
| There comes a softening... ...to coconuts when tossed by waves and beach-abandoned root in sand or muck to push up sprouts... ...or when sliced, scooped out cover up her tits. © Kåre Enga [171.R1] December 2014 (for Jaime Bach) There comes a softening... ...of the wood when gnawed by beetles becomes the forest's rot then melts to mushrooms. © Kåre Enga [171.R2] December 2014. There comes a softening... ...to my skull each time a blow connects to scramble brain cells, a battering that slow by slow robs me of my sanity and shortens days. My head hangs low but not in shame. It counts the hours blow by blow. Minutes matter most when what remains sifts through silent thoughts... that in a second go. © Kåre Enga [171.R3] 15.December.2014. There comes a softening... ...to hard eyes when a child catches her first fish and then releases it. But first her awe at liquid sunshine then squeamishness as blood squirts from her finger. She's hooked like her emerald prize, now sparkling with diamonds as she gentle lets it go. © Kåre Enga [171.R4] 17.December.2014. |
| There comes a softening... ...to grey clouds wrung of rain that wisp across cold dry terrain that begs for what they cannot give having given all and more. © Kåre Enga [171.S1] 11.diciembre.2014 There comes a softening... ...to old books when spines are spent, pages yellowed, stained and bent. What wisdom have they given Ages Past and yet still give. © Kåre Enga [171.S2] 12.diciembre.2014 There comes a softening... ...to sore lips when balm is spread and then removed by lingering kiss... ...that dare not stray past yearning flesh, remaining a smile for what's been missed! © Kåre Enga [171.S3] 12.diciembre.2014 There comes a softening... ..to cantucci when dunked in milk by a five year old waiting for father's voice... ...while sirens scream a mile away: fire, a body trapped, burnt flesh, a wreckage of a speeding car that won't reach home. The side door opens this stormy night to whoops and hugs while father's raincoat drips. But... in another house... two cookies wait; a child sits. © Kåre Enga [171.S4] 13.diciembre.2014 Note: cantucci (canTOOCH) is a biscotti. |
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