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September 26, 2016


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Spectacularly beautiful. More, please.

It is a theatre floating through the clouds,
Itself a cloud, although of misted rock
And mountains running like water, wave on wave,

Through waves of light. It is of cloud transformed
To cloud transformed again, idly, the way
A season changes color to no end,

Except the lavishing of itself in change,
As light changes yellow into gold and gold
To its opal elements and fire's delight,

Splashed wide-wise because it likes magnificence
And the solemn pleasures of magnificent space
The cloud drifts idly through half-thought-of forms.

The theatre is filled with flying birds,
Wild wedges, as of a volcano's smoke, palm-eyed
And vanishing, a web in a corridor...
--Stevens, Auroras of Autumn

Thanks, Richard - and thanks for the wonderful and appropriate Wallace Stevens poem (that I was previously unaware of). I see that Reykjavik shut off its city lights last week so that people could enjoy the aurora - we had kept a routine nocturnal lookout, but it seems that our timing was slightly off...

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