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 |
April's snow At the end of April... powder-sugared mountains; in the valley we crave sun not the sting of snow. Daffodils fade as tulips bloom and lilacs wait. Not warm, but they're cozy under blankets of snow. This too shall pass long before Summer's heat and fires, as rivers rise from the rains and the melt of snow. And the cycles continue from birth to rebirth, a promise of growth, a harvest before new snow. For what is past is past if not yet forgotten. So we look to our future with each fall of snow. As our hair turns grey than white then slowly falls out, We are jealous of mountains covered with new snow. Yet, Spring has come to those who have entered Autumn, not ready to succumb to promises of snow. Oh, Kåre... know this... unless a new body's found, be prepared to rest in your coffin cloaked with snow. © Kåre Enga (27.avril.2017) [174.54] Needs fixing, but I don't have time at the moment! It snowed, a few flakes, today. |