'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:
I have goals of writing a poetic sketch every day. I have over 5,000. I attempt to edit and post one every time I blog. I may include the weather because it is very grounding. It is tempting to live life in the head, and equally dangerous. I try to connect with the people I live with as well as family and friends who live elsewhere. I attempt to notice the beauty of nature around me and note that here. I jot down what others say! People are much funnier than I am and they give me ideas. I pay tribute to those who have helped me get this far. My days and months are according to the Bahá'í year. Each is an attribute of God: Bahá - Splendor, Jalál - Glory, Jamál - Beauty, 'Azamat - Grandeur, Núr - Light, Rahmat - Mercy, Kalimát - Words, Kamál - Perfection, Asmá' - Names, 'Izzat - Might, Mashíyyat - Will, 'Ilm - Knowledge, Qudrat - Power, Qawl - Speech, Masá'il - Questions, Sharaf - Honor, Sultán - Sovereignty, Mulk - Dominion, 'Alá' - Loftiness.
Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings. More suggested links:
TO LEARN ABOUT BLOGS: Issue #3 answers the question, "Why blog?" and has good suggestions on improving one's blog. "Invalid Item" [] by A Guest Visitor
winklett Thank you. Any emotional response is good imho. At my age, and in my situation, I'm surrounded by echoes and embers. Reality is heartless; the Past slips away; the shore of the Future — shrouded in fog.
winklett and Joy: Thank you both for commenting. It was an easy prompt for me. Death has a certain concrete feel and finality, rooted not in some abstraction but in reality. I used all five senses to ground it. Dust may rise, but it always re-settles as dust. I need to rework the ending.
Maybe:
We do not blame them nor complain.
Their days are numbered: one, two, oops —
They will join us soon enough.
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