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 |
An appointment with Nick a musing on the eve of May 3rd in Missoula Alpenglow slides up mountain slopes, fragrant white trees blossom over ripples in the irrigation canal. wayfarers cross the bridge where swallows rest in nests. Spring green willows caress rising waters and white-green shrubs dot Mt. Sentinel as high peaks glisten with snow. No one surfs the roaring rapids tonight, only a scattering of people in the hour before twilight, a mild breeze covers it all, reflected in steel and glass of a modern building. Now alpenglow lights up Mt. Jumbo. Yellow-peach tinges lingering grey clouds. Calm descends in gloom gathering between brick buildings. Street lamps wait while neon signs and streetlights blink impatient. One yellow tulip blooms under naked locusts waiting for warmth. More lights come on, a lure to partake of sushi or a sandwich. It's now 68º at 9:03 p.m. and at Zootown Brew, I'm waiting for Nick where he'll order cocoa. © Kåre Enga (3.mayo.2017) [174.68] 80,876 |