Magla se zatvara za njom

Posljednjeg poslijepodneva Polly je opet letjela visoko iznad obale. Ispod nje bila su čajna polja, krater s dva jezera i tiha šuma u kojoj priolo još živi. Odozgo je otok izgledao kao ono što jest: lanac starih vulkana koji se još polako hladi u zelenilo.

On her last afternoon, Polly flew high above the coast again. Below her lay the tea fields, the crater with its two lakes, and the quiet forest where the priolo still lives. From up there, the island looked like what it is: a chain of old volcanoes, still slowly cooling into green.

Ribarske brodice vraćale su se u luku i ostavljale tanke bijele crte na sve tamnijem moru. Svjetla su se palila jedno po jedno uz obalnu cestu. S obale se dizao miris dima.

Fishing boats were heading back to the harbor, leaving thin white lines on the darkening sea. Lights came on one by one along the coast road. The smell of smoke drifted up from the shore.

S oceana se dovaljala magla, baš kao i cijeli tjedan. Prekrila je krater, pa čajna polja, pa luku, polako skrivajući otok. Polly je to već vidjela.

Fog rolled in from the ocean, just as it had all week. It covered the crater, then the tea fields, then the harbor, hiding the island slowly from view. Polly had seen it do this before.

Odletjela je nad otvoreno more dok se gasilo posljednje svjetlo. Iza nje je otok i dalje kuhao večeru pod zemljom, uzgajao čaj list po list i čuvao malu sivu pticu u svojoj šumi.

She flew out over open water as the last light faded. Behind her, the island kept cooking its dinner underground, growing its tea leaf by leaf, and keeping a small grey bird safe in its forest.