Enga mellom fjella

White on white; O'Keeffe's Kokopelli with snow

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White on white

         for Keith Hays

In the blind whiteness of a snow squall, all six directions vanish. Only the seventh deep within him hums warm to the promise of the flute. Cocooned, creation's spark remains an ember, a tuneless tune waiting out this storm. Kokopelli wanders through the daze. His frozen feathered gaze goes through me, sees the nothingness that drains my soul, sees beyond me ... only snow.

         white on
         white on white
         a melody

© Kåre Enga 2008 [165.46] 2008-04-23

Inspired by Georgia O'Keeffe's Kokopelli with Snow (1942):

http://www.museumsyndicate.com/item.php?item=16881

Wikiwords on Kokopelli:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kokopelli

ME:

I split my Cash burger in two and only ate half. Didn't help, I still needed to take a nap.

I dreamt of climbing into an attic, meeting a dark-haired someone I'd only met but once before. I woke into another dream, traveling on a train. I didn't know where I was nor where I was going. A woman said, Kansas. The style of the houses amidst the trees along the tracks did not look like Kansas to me. They're hotels, she said. I surmised the better question I needed to ask was when I was. The train stopped wherever it chose to let off people (one run-down place was called Lily) until there were only two women left and me. I was still a puzzle to myself ... but I felt that they knew something or at least they seemed intrigued. The train stopped and the conductor told me this was where I got off. The first woman I had spoken to got off too (it was not her stop). In the distance I could see the fence and beyond it nothing but grass. As much to keep us in as keep "them" out, I said. She said nothing. In fact, no one had said much at all. Offered no information or reason to help me understand. I did not know this place but saw a path and in the distance a cut where a road must have run through once. I followed it towards the fence and came to an old woman standing by an older house. She only nodded, but in a flash I saw her as a young woman with long blond hair. I pointed. Is he still there, I asked.

And then the damn storm woke me up with a clap of thunder, close thunder. I couldn't get back to the dream; but, if I was in Kansas, it was long after the establishment of the Buffalo Commons, long after everything I'd ever known had ceased to exist.

A typical rural scene around here:

http://www.wunderground.com/wximage/viewsingleimage.html?mode=singleimage&handle...

Redbuds in bloom on the 22nd:



Kansas: 60º around midnight. Calm after the storms.

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