Devet otoka, tri ploče

Polly je letjela nisko iznad crne vulkanske stijene, gdje su zelena polja sezala do ruba litice, a magla je klizila preko zaobljenih brežuljaka u unutrašnjosti. Bio je to São Miguel, najveći od devet azorskih otoka, sam u sjevernom Atlantiku. Slani zrak miješao se s mirisom vlažne zemlje i pokošene trave.

Polly came in low over black volcanic rock, where green fields ran to the cliff edge and mist slid across rounded hills inland. This was São Miguel, the largest of the nine Azores islands, alone in the North Atlantic. Salt air mixed with wet earth and cut grass.

Otok postoji zbog pukotine duboko ispod oceanskog dna, gdje se tri velike ploče polako melju jedna o drugu. Sjeverna Amerika vuče na jednu stranu, Europa na drugu, a Afrika pritišće s juga. Toplina se diže kroz pukotine ondje gdje se susreću. Svaki je otok ovdje nastao od vatre i stijene koja se hladi.

The island exists because of a seam far below the ocean floor, where three great plates grind slowly against each other. North America pulls one way, Europe another, and Africa presses from the south. Heat rises through the cracks where they meet. Every island here was built from fire and cooling rock.

Gotovo svako polje na otoku São Miguel obrubljeno je živicom od hortenzija, plavih, ljubičastih i ponekad blago ružičastih, tako gustih da izgledaju naslikane na zemlji. Poljoprivrednici su biljke donijeli iz Azije u devetnaestom stoljeću samo da označe granice polja. Vulkansko tlo, bogato mineralima, njihove latice boji još dubljom plavom.

Almost every field on São Miguel is edged by a hedge of hydrangeas, blue, violet, and sometimes soft pink, so thick they look painted onto the land. Farmers brought the plants from Asia in the nineteenth century just to mark field borders. The volcanic soil, rich in minerals, turns their petals an even deeper blue.

Dublje u unutrašnjosti zeleni su se brežuljci sklapali oko tihih kotlina koje Polly s obale nije mogla vidjeti. Odnekud među njima slabašno se dizala para, tanke bijele niti na sivom nebu, pa je krenula prema visoravni.

Further inland, green hills folded around quiet basins Polly could not see from the coast. Steam rose faintly from somewhere among them, thin white threads against the grey sky, and she turned toward the high ground.