Poem for Sunday and Sugarloaf Mountain

Virgil's Hand
By Francesc Parcerisas
Translated by Cyrus Cassells

The battle's slow and sinuous,
a stormy fire on the hilltops.
The enemy's spears and darts
have decimated,
at such a snail's pace,
our once-protecting parents,
that, almost unawares, we're caught,
wordless, shield-less, in the blazing
tumult of the frontline.
Up till now, Virgil's hand.
From this day forward,
the world will be utterly different:
we'll combat the fire
totally on our own.
Guideless, spurred by a secret
quest for common sense,
perhaps, in the long run, we'll realize
the ramparts,
the enemy, the war itself,
are trumped-up shadows
of a fire that's merely
light and ash;
we'll realize: purgatory
and paradise are located
within us.

--------

The weather and the trees this autumn have been the most gorgeous I can ever remember -- rain mostly light if at all in daylight hours, coming down overnight to keep the leaves turning slowly. Paul made us pumpkin waffles and scrambled eggs with goat cheese for brunch, then we drove to Dickerson and climbed Sugarloaf Mountain -- three of us on the trails, Adam scaling the rocks. There were many people but no bottlenecks on the ascent, and we saw deer and chipmunks busy high on the mountain:















Since it was El Dia de los Muertos and since Daniel hadn't had it in a long time, we had Mexican food for dinner...well, Tex-Mex at California Tortilla, the closest we could get to easily. Then Adam went to do work and, since we'd subjected him to The Spy Who Loved Me the night before, Daniel suggested we watch Moonraker, which is just as sexist and even sillier (though I may just be cranky because there is no car that turns into a submarine). Americans, don't forget to change your clocks!