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 |
The new Bishop arrives in Pérez Zeledón Clouds play peek-a-boo with moon and sun. Deer cavort in the dapple of shade trees. Brightness, darkness, come and go. But on a cloudless day all flee from shadows that move: a hawk at noon, an owl at midnight, hunters that promise eternal shade. We stare at the skies knowing men can't fly, how Icarus burnt his wings. Yet there! Above us! A man aloft, below the dark shadow of a plane. Some cry, some wail. Some know to hail— the new Bishop has arrived. © Kåre Enga (10.mayo.2017) [174.81] /PPRT#41/ Note: will add the year when I find it in my notes. I believe it was the 1920s. Most Generaleños had never seen a plane. |
At that fork in the woods Retracing thoughts— that still lead nowhere— calling old friends— nothing to say. Our ways diverged in a darksome woods— how some paths crisscross— how others don't. It's not the mountains that divide us now— just circumstance— and lost time. I want you back. I want ME back. At that fork in the woods— our last goodbye. © Kåre Enga (11.may.2017) [174.82] |