L'aura del Campo

2019年5月3日: ancestral blog

2019年5月3日: ancestral blog

Somehow we survived the plague, the wars between the Svea and the Goths, the years of eating fish and hazelnuts and not much else. These pines. This water. We left.

Some of us traveled to a place of maple and chestnut. Made furniture, built houses, planted crops we could never grow before. Planted ourselves.

We found each other. We already had children. We made more.

From one of these—you are descended.

When you go back the water will seem cold. The pines will not welcome you. You'll be a stranger. This is not your home.

But every time they see your face they will know you are one of us. They will speak our language, puzzled that you do not understand:

Once there was fish and water. Once there was pine and hazelnuts.

Now even our graves have been recycled.

There is nothing else.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS: 1. I opened my window. If it stays above freezing I can leave it open. Uncomfortable to breathe when it's closed for too long. 2. Saw friends and chatted with others. 3. Put April 2nd entry to my journal on-line so I can edit. 4. Wrote a poem. 5. Read more Acorna 7... the part I'm reading is unsettling... triggering traumas for some reason.
IMAGES: Cool air, sunshine and raindrops, cold draft from the open window, sausage lasagna,
NEW BLOGVILLE: Reading does remind me of Old Blogville. A community forms when we share ourselves. Like freshman year in college, each person from a different place making new friends... in college because we have to. Here? Because we mostly choose to.

Arsenic Springs

In a wasteland we are wary
of water. If green and stagnant
we are careful. If flowing
we note the flowers around it.
If nothing is growing
we avoid it.

Maybe I dreamt
too hard. Maybe I hoped
for too much. Your eyes gleamed
muddied blue, mine clear
crystal; but,

with nothing behind them,
you knew best to avoid them.

© Kåre Enga [176.71] (2.maio.2019)

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