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 |
Winter melts between us We stand there in wonder, ready to see with fresh eyes, wrapped in the shroud of winter in this city of wet snow and cold air. We ask each other what this means, this trickle of melt. Can we cross if we jump. Where does it go. Can we go there. Someone snaps a picture before we decide, captures our thoughts in the look on our faces, the way we gaze down at each other's feet. There it lies, a dark river as wide as our short past and the long future before us, the thin line of the present we walk along, each staying on our own side. When we are older will we look back at this moment, frozen in black and white and realize that this was all that ever divided us, a grey trickle of snow melt in this global warming time. © Kåre Enga (5.juin.2017) [174.122] /30:5.2/ 81.146 |