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 Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "Sentinel" "Where grows the compost heap" "Between us" "Boise City" "Plain cover jacket" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Winter: 18 Mas'il (December 29)" "In a garden of roses, baby" "Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page" "Il pleure (poem). We R puddle-luscious, aujourd'hui." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
Me: I got the file cabinet in place and my writing files and travel files placed inside. Now to go through more boxes and get them stored away.  I didn't sleep well last night. I'm blaming it on the coffee as it couldn't possible be that I changed my bed around and put it by a window...  Managed to get ahold of my friend Gary. 6 minutes of sunshine is better than none. Too bad he didn't answer last week when it was gloomy here. Today? Not a cloud in the sky.  Sunny enough but not warm. I should be in Costa Rica. I'm missing the futbol championship and the bullfights. I haven't been in Montana in December... since when...  A quote: "I can see their little toe writing in the short lived dim twilight." Geoff  In reference to animal tracks in an Alaska winter."I shouldn't be here..." I tell myself, voice trailing off in a sigh. I should be in Costa Rica, or at least planning my next trip: Tromsø, Norway; Nara, Japan; back to Portugal... somewhere. Lord knows I have the money. At least my bank thinks so! December is a somber month. I don't have any family here and friends? Yes, but... I "don't do friends". At least, not like I used to. I feel nostalgic for the 80s and 90s and a place I once called home. Missoula is a safe place. It's a beautiful place. It's a cultural haven. But... it doesn't speak to me, and... my heart goes back to Kansas and my mind wanders off further east where snow falls every November and those who once were my friends visit over cocoa around their kitchen tables. I cannot get back what has long since gone away. |
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