Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
Sara Shoom's seder A clove of garlic savors the knish and the roast beast honors the plate with its presence. The leeks lay limp but ready to comply; what lives; what dies to live again. The prayer of thanksgiving is said. And each is consumed with a drop of wine, a blood-red sacrifice for the love of garlic. © Kåre Enga 2007 [164.301] 2007-10-18 ME: I actually got up at a reasonable hour. I am now sleeping under my feather blanket and closed the window. Too warm! May need to open it again. Got an e-mail from a friend in Bismarck. I would like to visit. Today is liver-and-onions day. Will I make it in time? Odd thoughts not quite congealed into poetic sketches or sump-thing: Kid rock does the waffle-scuffle, shuffles out the jail-house door bearing down, borne up the 'Frog Hour' Postcard from Penn's Sylvania: Dear Vlad. Val was very good. I saved her head. She's chilling in the cooler next to the lettuce (don't grope by shape, look first). I gave her bones to Everett. He's chewing on her now ... Big Joe: he got his wish to be little; his ashes fit in a box. (memorial was yesterday). BLOGVILLE: PastVoices is dealing with an old neck injury on top of all the other pain. She could use a phone call or note. martha-lisa is a newbie. Another blogger spilling out the difficulties of death, family and co-workers. Two well written entries. More to come I hope. Jongleur is also a newbie. Her blog has a totally different tone that is better read than described. Her most recent entry speak of chakras, but her first two are from the perspective of Betty, who although she is no longer 'with us' refuses to go away. (she's got a lot of wisdom to say) Kansas: a cool 45º at 10 a.m. and sparkling shiney skies. 585 |