“Did you know that a bee dies after he stings you? And that there’s a star called Aldebaran? And that around the tenth of August, any year, you can look up in the sky at night and see dozens and dozens of shooting stars?” ― Elizabeth Enright, Then There Were Five Chiar asa e. In noptile trecute, cerul a fost plin de stele cazatoare. Cat de repede dispar si cat de putin stim sa ne bucuram de ele, ati observat? La fel ca de zilele verii… Deloc intamplatoare reveria mea,
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning,
