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Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
Daffodil weather Bright splash of gold on a cold white-sky day. 10 The mud of March freezing, thawing; 8 no real illusion, warmth will be delayed 10 until the Ides of April's dawning 9 (or maybe May). Kelly counts his colours Is that blue-green or green-blue, two of the forty shades of green or the chartreuse of peeling pain or hidden liquor? The lime in the coconut or still on the tree, the hunter in the evergreen forest of pine, the sickening pus that must be cleansed of the putrid pregnant pimple, as jars of pickles, emerald gems hidden at the back of the shelf, cry out to be remembered like the gems and malachite stashed in your freshly painted drawers. Sea green you said? More like sage that mirrors the colors of a damp drear day, dripping on grey-green snow covered moss. Can we count copper coins and spires now viridian shades of antiquity or the verdigris of regret. How Heineken in glass-bottles, apples, pears or pistachios, neon-spring or kelly green define us. Ah, that's my colour. © Kåre Enga (17.mars.2025) 23 lines 121.707 |