It is a sunny, relatively cool, pleasantly breezy day. Sitting in my corner of the yard, thinking about maybe motivating to mow or otherwise putter, but I'd rather just be. Looking up at the trees moving in the light wind, I am reminded of one of my favorite short stories from the Soviet era, Yury Olesha's Love (Любовь)
First, the Russian:
Он подумал: « Деревья встречают Лелю овацией». Дальтоник ошибался, но Шувалов ошибался еще грубее.
По-английски:
He thought: "The trees are greeting Lelya with an ovation." The colorblind man was mistaken, but Shuvalov was even more mistaken.
Also reminds me of a particular shroom trip with a couple buddies in college - which in turn reminds me of the paper I wrote about The Grand Inquisitor, in Russian, whilst shrooming - but let's not get into that now.
Ahem. So anywayz...I originally was going to use the story's last line ("Go and eat blue pears") for my post title, but decided to go for a deeper cut with "writers are engineers of human souls." Seemed fitting for our new AI-plagued Stalinist era.
Selah.
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