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 |
It is said... It is said... that Hell cannot be ALL English red, for the redcoat hisself has sent many a starving Irishman before him. The road is paved with rebel hearts and trees beam emerald either side of the causeway to the Isles of Incessant Wailing where the bodhrán and the pipes prance with the whistle as the dance goes on forever, long past a blighted Brits time for bed. It is said... that Hell has nary enough colcannon to be served with soda bread. And when the trad-sessions start, it is said... that even the Devil has learned to jive a damn fine jig. © Kåre Enga [174.2] (25.March.2017) |