Megla se za njo zapre

Zadnje popoldne je Polly spet letela visoko nad obalo. Pod njo so ležala čajna polja, krater z dvema jezeroma in tihi gozd, kjer še vedno živi priolo. Od tam zgoraj je bil otok videti to, kar je: veriga starih vulkanov, ki se počasi ohlaja v zeleno.

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.

Ribiški čolni so se vračali v pristanišče in za sabo puščali tanke bele črte po temnečem morju. Vzdolž obalne ceste so se prižigale luči, ena za drugo. Z obale se je dvigal vonj po dimu.

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.

Z oceana se je privalila megla, tako kot ves teden. Prekrila je krater, nato čajna polja in nato pristanišče ter počasi skrila otok. Polly je to že videla.

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.

Odletela je nad odprto vodo, ko je zadnja svetloba ugašala. Za njo je otok še naprej kuhal večerjo pod zemljo, gojil čaj list za listom in v svojem gozdu varoval majhno sivo ptico.

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.