Summer Has Gone

And I miss it somewhat. Exams in three days. Coughing.

I never cease to be fascinated by the ubiquity of ice out in the open.

I have so much to say, and yet writing and discretion fail me. I will never forget these last few days.

Passou o Verão

Correm turbas as águas deste rio,
Qua as rapidas enchentes enturbaram:
Os florecidos campos se secaram;
Intratável se fez o valle, e frio.
Passou, como o verão, o ardente Estio;
Humas cousas por outras se trocaram:
Os fementidos fados já deixaram
Do Mundo o regimento, ou desvario.
Já o tempo a ordem sua tem sabida;
O Mundo, não: mas anda tão confuso,
Que parece que delle Deos se esquece.
Casos, opiniões, natura, e uso,
Fazem que nos pareça desta vida
Que não há nella mais do que parece.

When the turgid waters of the river flow by, they bring
the muddied runoff from the mountains; nearby
the once-flowering fields are parched and dry,
and the valley is cold and unproductive. The spring
and the heats of summer are gone. The transition
of things into other things continues. But it seems
as though the Fates have abandoned their usual schemes,
forsaking this world to its mostly disordered condition
Time, of course, has order, and it never breaks
its rules, but not this world, whose chaotic strife
seems almost forgotten by God. The uncertainty
of customs, events, opinions, and nature makes
it always seem as though this life
is nothing more than what it seems to be.

— Luís de Camões (Translation by William Baer)