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 |
Enthralled You expected to be sad in the fall when drifts of leaves crossed your path, the sunlight of summer faded into long shadows, red and gold twilight adrift under trees. Yet, goldenrod bloomed, alive with sweat bees, sweetness of past autumns coming to mind. You discarded expectations, inhaled each day's joy, began to twirl with brown leaves. You let the wind take your sadness, the ground take your body, gave yourself to cold skies. You spread wings and left the autumn behind, embracing your spirit in warmer climes. You expected to be sad in the fall. Once enthralled, you said goodbye to it all. © Kåre Enga [174.97] (23.mai.2017) |
Aching for a fever Temperature counting down: ninety-seven, ninety-six, on the way to forever as hot or cold as four seasons and just as lively as an old shriveled stick. Oh, for a fever! A strong pulsing blip, blood replete with oxygen, running red not dull purple, thirsty for living a cup of joy at the lips. © Kåre Enga [174.95] (23.may.2017) |
We nine Sudden heat at night: 3 dead, 5 wounded, and me —shivering—out of sight. © Kåre Enga [174.93] (23.mayo.2017) |