Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
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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 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 ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
| 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 |