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 L ![]() ![]() 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 ![]() ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
La Música Drums cross the wooden floors, pine groaning to pounding feet, the rhythm of clogs, the shuffle of sandals. The espresso machine provides harmony for the unburdened whine soaring from customers ordering — a brioche, a fluted canelé, a latté skinny with oat milk and a dash of vanilla. Hold the tears, hold the drama! I wear a yellow shirt with a faded ink stain, the curse of writers not too proud to wear second hand clothes or write down emotions overheard between words unspoken. Unbroken, invisible, I grip my cup of daily drip as if it contains some sanity, as words squiggle across a blank page, now relieved to be of some use more than a blotter for stains. This useless day gleams, not too hot, not too chill, odd for August, as the sun peaks through clouds to gild the drought-yellowed leaves that catch a breeze, like Lazarus, hoping to survive autumn to green again come next spring. Melodic thoughts bring peace; but, give way to annoying traffic, to feet pounding the pavement; La Música now a cacophony, dying when a motorcycle screeches its descant, shattering the moment. © Kåre Enga (4.agosto.2025) 31 lines 127.589 views |