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 |
Aquamarine You burn old photos of your grandmother, your aunt, your mother, you. Black and white no longer defines you (no more than the past). You wish to light the night in flashing neon the color of the sea: AQUAMARINE AQUAMARINE AQUAMARINE AQUAMARINE AQUAMARINE © Kåre Enga (28.junio.2017) [174.162] /30:28.1&2/ |
stray thoughts on SLEEP We sleep. Between sea and seashore, we sleep. Festooned with our blankets, cocooned in our caves, eyelids droop to dream. We sleep standing on all four legs, spread out or curled into a ball. Yet all sleep, one way or another. As books pile up and eyelids lower, dreams of fish swim by us. All becomes plausible as we sleep. The sea lulls us to sleep; the silence of its depths enters and stills us. And we sleep. © Kåre Enga (27.juni.2017) [174.160] /30:27.1&2/ |