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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| "Onion skin" deep dry thoughts waft of tea The quilted sky lay a soft grey pall over the valley. Long gone the Season of Bluebird Song, the days of trout jumping and fly-hatch mere lingering whiffs like the cloying perfume of lust-filled regrets. I move sloth-like through the morning, the mountains' razor edge obscured by smoke, the hills too hard to climb in choking stillness. I sip hot tea in the bakery, my hands darkened by the now waning sun, my thoughts transparent as onion skin. What had stranded me in this ashy hell? Why had I left the deep dark loam of the tall-grass prairie where my roots slept peacefully through winter, woke up to blue skies and thunder, stretched for water every summer. Coughing, I thirst for a drop of rain. Amused by the metal taste of my worn out glasses dangling from dry lips, I day-dream to the whirr of the fan hanging from this bakery's ceiling, barely aware of the locals' just-another-Sunday-morning chatter, wonder where I'll go next, when I'll move on. new ink on onion skin drying © Kåre Enga [169.101] 23 September 2012 Note: had just finished Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge. The prompt for my "Gems in a Jar" #4 were: quilted, soft grey, whirr, cloying perfume, sloth-like, onion skin, metal (taste), still (air), hot tea, deep dark loam, (season of) bluebird singing, (month of) fly hatch. 68,763 |
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