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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "'heart's home'" "In Lagada, la vita" "Waterlily" "Boise City" "Plain cover jacket" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" "ENFP, what are you?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| The bell rang for the vesper hour. It was time for Brother Jesse to enter and begin to chant. All chores not-yet-done would have to wait. He smiled at the mice scurrying around the kitchen. There was only so much time to gather the crumbs left over from the afternoon cake. The monks would not suffer them to be seen after prayers. The music of the monks soothed the mice as they hurried. No one worried at Saint Mary of the Seas. High and dry overlooking Dingle bay and the woolly land lice, life went on regardless of the tempests storming the world. There was a time to bake, a time to eat, a time to gather crumbs, and always time for prayers. The mice knew the routines of each and every monk. The vesper hour and the calm before twilight was everyone's favorite time of day. Tonight though... tonight the bells began to toll and the music became screeching bagpipes, fireworks, sirens and bombs. There was no time to sneak a piece of cake or even sweep up the crumbs. Mice and monks looked around in shock as warriors clashed outside the walls. The doors were bolted shut. The cacophony outside had shattered the harmonies inside Saint Mary of the Seas. Brother Jesse and the monks chanted all night long, their quavering voices pleading. The mice huddled in forgotten corners. By morning's light the green grass was black and bloody. Matins would have to wait. The weary monks went in search of the wounded but still living. They chanted prayers over the dead. The bells stayed silent and the mice? The mice sat with their crumbs and gave thanks for what they had gathered. Brother Jesse sighed. There would be no cake baked today. ~296 words |
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