Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
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 LV COMMENTS! 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 Enga ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
Along the Askerselva She stood silent, her hooded eyes like night embers that burnt through the bullshit of sunlight. She watched those who biked down worn pebbled paths those who then abandoned greased chains in the river for a scooter wending past addicts, still too young to understand what they were too old to not see. Until that too was abandoned to the flowing ditch for dirt tracks and high speed, the drift of it all raising a thin puff of dirt, obscuring the child who once looked towards some future obscuring a memory looking back at her standing there. She still stands there, silent, her hooded eyes like night. © Kåre Enga [11.mars.2017] Note: a fiction based on a walk down the Askerelva that runs through Oslo, Norway. |