Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| Flight of the poet Boulder: too uptight. Colorado now outta-sight, receding in the rear-view mirror. Two-thousand-four... Illinois bound — to lick my wounds. Twenty years ago, I wanted to die — the end of the road came in Kansas. After a lost four years, that I somehow survived, a colder view of life and a pile of poems stuck in a folder. © Copyright 2024 Kåre Enga (7.januar.2024) |