By Katrina Vandenberg
That summer in the west I walked sunrise
to dusk, narrow twisted highways without shoulders,
low stone walls on both sides. Hedgerows
of fuchsia hemmed me in, the tropical plant
now wild, centuries after nobles imported it
for their gardens. I was unafraid,
did not cross to the outsides of curves, did not
look behind me for what might be coming.
For weeks in counties Kerry and Cork, I walked
through the red blooms the Irish call
the Tears of God, blazing from the brush
like lanterns. Who would have thought
a warm current touching the shore
of that stone-cold country could make
lemon trees, bananas, and palms not just take,
but thrive? Wild as the jungles they came from,
where boas flexed around their trunks —
like my other brushes with miracles,
the men who love you back, how they come
to you, gorgeous and invasive, improbable,
hemming you in. And you walk that road
blazing, some days not even afraid to die.
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We had a mostly lazy Sunday, though we did go to Cold Stone Creamery in Gaithersburg so Daniel could get some driving time in and so all of us could get ice cream. In the middle of the afternoon, Adam biked to a friend's house to watch the World Cup final with a bunch of friends, and the rest of us had chips and dip while watching it here. We were rooting for Argentina but not very invested in the outcome -- since Germany beat Argentina on our honeymoon, we figured maybe it would be good luck if it happened again!
We had feijoada for dinner in honor of Brazil (with fake pork and beef, of course), then took Daniel back to College Park, where we saw two bunnies in his apartment complex -- the ones in our neighborhood appeared to be hiding from the heat and then the evening thunderstorm that still has the Orioles game delayed. Adam made plans for a biking trip on Monday while Paul and I watched the season premiere of Masters of Sex, which is still excellent -- Allison Janney in particular. Just a few pics from my day:
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