Up They Soar
By Inger Christensen
Translated by Susanna Nied
Up they soar, the planet's butterflies,
pigments from the warm body of the earth,
cinnabar, ochre, phosphor yellow, gold
a swarm of basic elements aloft.
Is this flickering of wings only a shoal
of light particles, a quirk of perception?
Is it the dreamed summer hour of my childhood
shattered as by lightning lost in time?
No, this is the angel of light, who can paint
himself as dark mnemosyne Apollo,
as copper, hawkmoth, swallowtail.
I see them with my blurred understanding
as feathers in the coverlet of haze
in Brajcino Valley's noon-hot air.
We spent a beastly hot Sunday in Hanover with Paul's parents, who are leaving in a few days to drive to the west coast to visit David and Jon's families for several months. Since we didn't see them on Adam's birthday, we celebrated that again by having lunch at a Chinese restaurant near them that he likes (I had excellent orange tofu). The restaurant is next door to an enormous, wonderful antiques mall which I asked for a few minutes to wander in and where we all ended up spending an hour -- because it was air conditioned, the kids were actually more willing to wander there than outdoors, and they had a good time laughing at old toys and kitsch, particularly some of the vinyl record albums (Jan and Dean Meet Batman, Music To Massage Your Mate By).
We decided to go for a walk at Codorus State Park to see the groundhogs and waterfowl, but it was so beastly hot and there was so little breeze that we didn't last there for long -- though we did get to see some groundhogs, plus some crazy shirtless people playing frisbee. Then we went back to Clair and Cinda's for birthday cake, and, eventually, pizza for dinner, with some games of Uno in between. I am still fighting with my phone (and am incredibly pissed off at Google in general for apparently having even less respect for users' privacy than Facebook -- what do I need Google+ for when I can have the same drawbacks on a site I already use?) but I will not belabor that, since I am still trying to get over my astonishment that more people I know posted yesterday about Amy Winehouse than Norway or Somalia.
There seemed to be more people on boats than on land at the park in the intense heat.
Earlier we visited this enormous antiques mall...
...where I was sorely tempted by this souvenir of a coronation that never took place. (I found a George VI florin in good condition for $3, which was the must-have item.)
We threatened to buy this for our children. They threatened to disown us.
Later, we went back for birthday cake...
...and watched a bunny playing in the backyard.