Look around. Let Nature nurture your Soul. I record images I sense and share them here.
NURTURE your NATURE
Nature can nurture our writing, can nurture our soul. What is the language of Nature? And how do we learn it?
We look at the natural wonders around us and do not see them, hear, taste nor smell them. They do not touch us anymore than we dare touch them. And then we wonder why we feel so dead. To breathe in and live like a child again opens the Land of Wonderment. It's still there after all these years.
|Red, gold and green
Green arbors of August
sag under a film of dust
(the dry-leaf rustle
and dry-throat rattle)
until change in the air
lightens their despair
as sunlight softens
and nights lengthen
while green yellows
and elks bellow
in the midst of the rut —
how gold turns to rust
and those reds we behold,
that adorn the forest's crown
soon fade to brown
as all life bleeds
to prepare itself, a need
to cast off color
for deep sleep's pallor
perhaps to wake to light
after cold white nights
under a banquet of snow —
for inner embers glow
to hearten the hope that sings
of verdant spring
and renewal — after the breath
of autumn's death
and winter's hibernation —
of what was once pursued,
now resting, waiting to be renewed.
© Kåre Enga [177.233] (25.september.2020)
32 irregular lines with an aabb rhyme.
For September 2020:
prompts:HIBERNATION, CHANGING, COLOURFUL, DARK NIGHTS, WOODLAND WALKS.
|Julie had an aardwolf
Julie had an aardwolf
(nothing rhymes with aardwolf)
she kept it in her big walled garden
(aardwolves do not climb).
But Aardie tried to dig
(he thought he was an aardvark)
although he's not a pig
(he eats termites all the time).
Until one day so lonely
(Julie had but one)
he tried to find a mate
(but searching he found none).
So Julie looked around
(while Aardie 'wept' and 'sobbed')
until she found an aardwolf
(willing for the job).
Now Julie has a garden
(where at night one hears the sound)
of termites being feasted on
(there's aardwolves all around).
© Kåre Enga [177.160] (30.juli.2020)
(20 lines, some rhythm, some rhyme)
Note: fictional. Aardwolves eat termites (they do not eat carrion or meat), very few zoos keep them. They are two subspecies found in East Africa and South Africa. They are mostly nocturnal. They cluck, bark, roar (when fighting).
| Down at The Shallot
[Ajo ]: Summer time fun! Not! But not all of us have an aversion to muggy stifling heat. Me? I just go sit under Old Cottonwood down by the river.
[Lily ]: You left out suffocating. Thank the universe for the Freezer at the Hog.
[Bawang ]: Remember that one time though when we lost electricity. We all went down to Ice House.
[Thoom ]: Good times. Everyone wanted iced tea.
[Meadowlark ]: Well I like summer because it's harvest time.
[Bawang ]: In the mornings.
[Lily ]: Better at night.
[Ajo ]: As long as Thoom has some lemonade ready I can withstand the heat.
[Meadowlark ]: I like checking on the eggplant as I harvest the garlic and if the dillweed is looking good ([Bawang ]: which it always is.) I just snip some. It's also makes me smile to see how well the cabbage and chamomile are doing around the shallots.
[Lily ]: I like collecting onions at the full moon after midnight.
[Bawang ]: Yes, unless someone is howling...
[Thoom ]: No need to mention who. I love how I can get ramps (what Ajo calls wild leeks) in the spring and then leeks later, long after everything else has matured, even into winter.
[Lily ]: Winter!
[Meadowlark ]: Well don't get too gleeful. I'll need help this week before the new moon makes it a bit hard for some to see.
[Ajo ]: Yeah, like me.
[Thoom ]: I'll provide the tea. Iced mint and chamomile should be perfect.
Write about your favorite summer activity. Truthfully? My season to go slow, read or sleep
|João* writes in his journal: Fragrance of the river wafts over me and the cooling air breezes by. The rumble of the rapids soothes me as I sketch these notes by starlight. I don't see the moon but I know it's out there. I can feel its pull. A bicycle passes me and does not stop ... no more than the river. The city naps quietly.
I'm only visiting friends I once knew. They're part of my past. If I live a century will I forget them? I asked my grandmother and she wrote back: You'll remember who and what you choose, Johnny. I have a new life with new friends who think I'm only 50! I don't look back. But I don't bother to forget either. There's a certain joy in being present. Tonight the moonflowers are blooming and the fireflies are dancing. There's a joy in being alive!
Before Time ... I always loved the night but never quite knew why. Now I know and love it even more.
Midnight caresses me. It feels like rain. Bugs swarm over the lamplight like it's their own private moon. Before I go back to the city's neon glow I gently capture a moth and note its pale wings, its striped leggings then let it go. The flag above the depot waves me home.
Prompt: Go somewhere outside or where you can observe the happenings of the world beyond the walls of your home (looking out a window is fine). Spend at least five minutes watching and listening. What do you see, hear, and smell? Where does your mind wander when you sit quietly?
At midnight: river smell, cool breeze, rumble of the rapids, bicycle, bugs, moth (pale wings, striped legs), lamplight, waving flag, neon signs
*João (Johnny) is the main character of "Os vampiros não vivem em Evora". As a child he appears in "Johnny-by-moonlight" , a delightful story if I must say so myself!
and lightning zaps
as you hold the strawberry-rhubarb pie
before it falls into your lap.
like you did
when your first child pooped...
Now your smile
wipes away the wrinkles
as waterfalls run down my cheeks.
I wipe away the past
and grab a fork.
consuming the sticky fragrant mess,
rubbing elbows as we wait for thunder,
for every morsel left.
© Kåre Enga [177.126] (8.juli.2020)
Prompt: "Thunder" - you must use all 5 senses and do not use the words see, touch, taste, hear, smell or feel.
|I listen to the willow, the wind caressing it's hair, the flow of water around it's roots, the messages along the thin threads of the fungi. Everything has its own voice.
I've tried listening to rocks. They have much to say but they say it slowly. One time I was so intent I got pelted by a hailstorm. Never heard the end of how the Matterhorn rose so high! The river stones are more chatty.
What wisdom can I impart. So many are so attached to what their eyes see that they seek no further. Learn how to touch and the world will touch back. Learn how to smell and fragrances will unlock memories you thought you forgot, and aromas themselves will teach you much. Learn to eat slow and carefully. Savor each flavor. There's more to know than sugar and salt. And listen. Every being has a voice. Where there is movement there is life. Even mountains move. Listen to air and water and fire. And when you use your eyes see what others cannot, then look further until you can see what is missing. There's no end of inspiration. When you have done all that listen to the human heart. For many that's where you should start.
Until we meet again,
What do you do when you are out of inspiration or ideas?
Why snip white rosebuds
to send my newborn grandson
on his heavenly journey?
These flowers' fragrance:
the memory* I'll hold on to
long after his body's** dust.
© Kåre Enga [177.123] (6.juli.2020)
*2 syllables not 3.
**contraction of 'body is'
This is in my dialect; to be read out loud.
|—Hi! I'm Meadowlark. Welcome to The Shallot. Have a seat at the table. Bawang is sorting some thyme and Thoom is boiling water for tea. What type would like?
—Lemon mint coming up.
—Yes, she's always that happy. I'm not. I'm as likely to bite you. I like fresh blood. My name is Bawang. Yours?
—Czeszniak! How nice of you to show up. Sit down with our guest. I'm almost done. Here, take my seat. I'm going to join Meadowlark in the garden. Got anything to wake sleepy-head up, Thoom?
—Garlic with Arsenic?
—No. Thoom doesn't want to kill me. She's the kindest old bat you'll ever meet. I'll take dandelion root with lemon and honey if you have any Thoom.
—Fresh out of lemons. But I'll add some lemon mint. That should do.
—Yes, Czeszniak is usually dead-to-the-world in his tomb. We check to make sure he's still breathing.
—I was reading some old texts.
—Still here, dear Czeszniak? Bawang and I picked some horehound and chamomile for you to sort. We're off to see Lily. She's been a bit moody recently. Ciao!
—Yes, Meadowlark chirps like a bird. Bawang is tense ... on a good day. And me? I'm reflective, dead or awake.
—Thoom? Thoom is always calm.
—Thank-you. Centuries of practice doesn't make perfect but it helps.
—Ha! She's older than you think. We're all older than we look. We're verrry old friends. More tea, Thoom? Please? And our guest needs a refill. We don't need amulets, mirrors or mood rings to scry or pry. We can read each other like the books I pour over. We only fool ourselves when we think we're hiding our emotions. Sure, we don't talk about everything. Lily doesn't need to tell us she's having another flashback; her frozen stare warns us. We know when to avoid Bawang's fangs; they glisten. And when we need to connect we come to The Shallot. Meadowlark cheers us up and Thoom adjusts our moods with tea.
—It's hot. I added some ginseng for both of you.
—Nice to have met you.
—You're welcome to come back again.
—Until next time, Peace.
—Have you ever met a Phade, Meadowlark? No? Our guest is one. Not that you'll remember. They erase all signs of their presence by not being present. They're better at becoming invisible than we are. Even now this evening wraps around our memories and erases the day. Ah, time to take my garlic. Pass the hot water please.
Note: These characters tell their stories in
This entry was written for: "30-Day Blogging Challenge"
Prompt: We all know the mood-ring fad of the 70’s only predicted body temperature and not necessarily mood, but what if people could actually see your emotions, like an aura of color surrounding you. Would you try to mask it, display it proudly, or something in between?
Real answer: I have none. I'm moody. I'm readable. I only way I mask it well is to become invisible.
Some moods for writers to evoke: cheerful, reflective, gloomy, humorous, melancholy, idyllic, whimsical, romantic, mysterious, ominous, calm, lighthearted, hopeful, angry, fearful, tense, lonely.
|Opening the garden ... of the heart
The garden opens its gates each year ...
as the gardener watches in anticipation,
as frost and freeze have finally yielded ...
yet early visitors want a carpet of color
(its not quite spring) and holler to each other,
"How little these bushes, how ugly this stream,
how useless they seem."2
The gardener knows better and calmly explains,
"in time we will harvest bushels of berries.
these will be red and juicy, those black and loved by bears
we'll be lucky if they don't glean them first."
"Well, this one tried to grab my purse!"
"Ah, to love a rose we must forgive its thorns,
to inhale its fragrance we must nourish its nature,
cherish it for whatever it offers... and never scorn.3
They walk through the drizzle under umbrellas,
sidestepping the puddles, avoid every wet frond.
"Why don't you drain this dank muddy pond?"
"I'm fond of the blossoms that rise from the muck each summer."
The visitors wrinkle their noses. "Yuck."
"Well, lets move on and not block the view for those behind us."4
Around the back bare trees overshadow slick paths,
shading the promise of ferns and moss.
"I like flowers. I have no use for forests."
"This tall tree pelts us with nuts by the hundreds; these twigs ease pain;
this straight limb will give its life to provide us shelter;
these beckon with golden leaves come autumn;
they have earned my respect
and deserve to remain."5
And so the gardener gently guides his guests
breathing deep to put his own anger to rest
as he remembers his teacher, a master gardener,
who showered him with patience over the years
and taught him how to overcome inner fears
by showing him how to tend the garden
and make it his friend.6
© Kåre Enga [177.109] (29.juni.2020)
Story-poem of 36 lines for:
June Prompt: Anger We all of us feel angry every now and then. How do you deal with it? How do you overcome it? How do you stop it from leading to resentment? 7
The day lilies were forgiving of my neglect. Weedy, ugly, forgotten except when they bloomed in a blaze of orange. They hugged the rear fence by the shallow ditch I had dug in the clay. They knew their place and stayed out of the way! Mostly ... They multiplied. And soon I separated and transplanted them to wherever nothing else would grow. Unless my sister has removed them, they'll bloom soon.
The emerald arborvitae created the semblance of a formal garden. They enclosed two small lawns and blocked the view of the neighbors. They provided a screen to the rear of the garden making more small rooms. Until the great snowstorm... 5 feet of heavy snow. They bent and broke and broke my heart. The garden languished among the brown sentinels of death.
A small snip and I took the slip home. It sent out roots but once potted did nothing. Maybe it longed for the greenhouse, its home in Kansas (did it come from Costa Rica? I no longer know). Years of scrawny blades and still nothing. We made cuttings and hoped. 17 years later it sat in a big pot in a room with bay windows... and bloomed. One could smell the night-blooming cereus from the rear staircase. It was July 9th ... a long time ago.
Jade trees sprout from leaves and form cuttings. They encourage patience and long-suffering. They survive neglect and no watering. They sit in a sunny window and on a shady sill. They flourish or not. But ... slowly, very slowly they grow and multiply. So many have found new homes! So many still need them. So many ... it's summer now ... would anyone object to a plant sitting by their door? With a note and a ribbon, perhaps?
There are all types of endings. I've been under an 800 year old ginkgo tree on temple grounds in Takayama. I've had wild tobacco grow unexpectedly from a seed I did not sow. I've mourned my elm tree for over 50 years. The dandelions of my childhood still flourish ... somewhere.
All endings must be embraced ... even those not hoped for.
What kind of ending do you prefer to read: the happy ending, the tragic ending, the change of heart ending, or the be careful what you wish for? Why? Which matrix attracts your own writing?