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 |
End of summer When the goldenrod blooms and our swollen tears fall, footballs fly though cool air. Do not fumble or fall. When Edith Piaf warbles and autumn leaves fall, stiff aching legs give out as we stumble and fall. With crisp air and frost, burning leaves signal it's fall, and then pumpkins are carved, their wide grins mouthing "fall". At the end of summer comes the harvest of fall. Before the sleep of winter we're glad that it's fall. © Kåre Enga (16.September.2024) 16 lines 115.248 |