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 |
| All I could think of was crickets: creak crick crick crick CAROL OF THE CRICKETS creak crick crick crick creak crick crick crick creak crick crick crick creak crick crick crick Hark! how the bugs, Sweet lonesome bugs, All scrape their legs, Come here my babe, Autumn draws nigh, Summers last sigh. Now we grow bold 'fore we grow old, creek crick creak crick creak crick creak crick This is our song, One hundred strong, All the night long, Our end is nigh, Do not ask why, Just hear our cry, Soft lullaby. Oh how we crick, Oh how we creak, Hiding's our trick, Making you shriek, Rubbing our legs, Fervently beg, Sadly we sing, Season's last fling. Weeping weeping weeping autumn Weeping weeping weeping autumn On, on we sing, Knowing come spring, Our offspring roam in eve'ry home. KE [177.290] (3.diciembere.2020) [Repeat from the beginning] For this song I actually prefer handbells to strings. 104.734 |