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 |
This Death of Dreams For Mark and Leslie The letter sits where she left it. One word, just one word screaming in red: INFERTILE She will never look at it again. She strokes the fur purring at her side and wonders how and why. How will she tell him about this death of dreams, he who always wanted one of each or two ... it never mattered. Will he move on to another now? Will her trembling body remain untouched. He knows his boys and girls can swim. He's launched his million mini-me's time and time again. But that letter sitting on her desk ... one word makes his rugged features cry. He tries to imagine a future of nephews and nieces, piles of dog and cat fur. He goes to hold her trembles in his arms. He vows to never let go. KE [177.19] (4.april.2020) |