L'aura del Campo

Thanks to Chalaedra. Running in circles. What is lost.

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███████          L'aura del campo           ███████

SUMMER: 14 Kalimát (26 July)

'é a lua,  é a lua,  na quintana dos mortos'
♣    Federico García Lorca    ♣

Now my blog has an orange (bronze) banner to go with its orange ribbon. I like orange (and green, don't forget green). Many thanks to chalaedra and the Angel Wings Foundation. Back in December, jspinelli gave me the ribbon. I remember how thrilled I was to have anyone reading my blog much less thinking it was worthy of recognition.

████████ Think cool !
████████ Weather where I am: 81º and damp.
████████ Weather where you are: ???
████████ Weather where you don't want to be: 97º in Paris and Lyon, France.


Then there are those who run around the block 5,000 times (for two months) completing 3,100 miles. A whole new way of expressing 'running in circles' . I can see how that would be meditational. How after seeing the same things every day, one would actually SEE. Kinda like me taking time to notice what I write down in 'Images'. To read the article:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060725/sp_nm/athletics_run_dc

A bit of melancholy, composed this morning while waiting for the bus with my umbrella in one hand and notepad in the other:

What is lost

There was a time when we were family,
a time when we were friends.
There was a time when love was planted,
where the harvest now must end.

The stubble in the cornfilelds,
the barren black of frosts,
begins another season:
winter's autumn's cost.

And the time for growth has ended;
what was living now is tossed.
And the time for hope has ended;
what was loved has now been lost. [163.271]

Reading is exhausting after a while. Got to peak at these bloggers among others: SHERRI GIBSON , SweetMorningDew , Even Though I've Died , Lorien , The Critic , archgargoyle, Love is a Mommy (no foolin) , kireimusume.

IMAGES

At the corner of 15th and Kasold:

Bricks mark where the sprinklers are hid from the monied customers of the green lawn suburban bank; the chorus of cicadas provide the steady buzz; while tires slap, slap, slap the hot asphalt notes of comings and goings of cars; it is cooling after sunset; the clouds sustain a symphony my camera can't quite capture; dirt clods mark the sides of the freshly poured concrete walk; a real estate office sits on the the other corner from the church that is for sale or lease; I rest on a bench at the busstop, no bus runs after 8; the headlights glow at the corner of Kasold and the bank temp lies: 91; I see a breeze in the maples; it's time to get up and leave.