Nine Islands, Three Plates

Polly came in low over black volcanic rock, where green fields ran to the cliff edge and mist slid across rounded hills inland. This was São Miguel, the largest of the nine Azores islands, alone in the North Atlantic. Salt air mixed with wet earth and cut grass.

Polly kom lavt ind over sort vulkansk klippe, hvor grønne marker løb ud til klintekanten, og tågen gled hen over runde bakker inde i landet. Dette var São Miguel, den største af Azorernes ni øer, alene i det nordlige Atlanterhav. Den salte luft blandede sig med våd jord og nyslået græs.

The island exists because of a seam far below the ocean floor, where three great plates grind slowly against each other. North America pulls one way, Europe another, and Africa presses from the south. Heat rises through the cracks where they meet. Every island here was built from fire and cooling rock.

Øen findes på grund af en revne dybt under havbunden, hvor tre store plader langsomt maler mod hinanden. Nordamerika trækker den ene vej, Europa den anden, og Afrika presser fra syd. Varmen stiger op gennem sprækkerne, hvor de mødes. Hver ø her er bygget af ild og afkølet sten.

Almost every field on São Miguel is edged by a hedge of hydrangeas, blue, violet, and sometimes soft pink, so thick they look painted onto the land. Farmers brought the plants from Asia in the nineteenth century just to mark field borders. The volcanic soil, rich in minerals, turns their petals an even deeper blue.

Næsten hver mark på São Miguel er kantet af en hæk af hortensiaer, blå, violette og somme tider sart lyserøde, så tætte at de ser malet ind i landskabet. Landmændene hentede planterne i Asien i det nittende århundrede, kun for at markere skel mellem markerne. Den vulkanske jord, rig på mineraler, gør kronbladene endnu dybere blå.

Further inland, green hills folded around quiet basins Polly could not see from the coast. Steam rose faintly from somewhere among them, thin white threads against the grey sky, and she turned toward the high ground.

Længere inde i landet foldede grønne bakker sig om stille kedler, som Polly ikke kunne se fra kysten. Der steg svag damp op et sted derinde, tynde hvide tråde mod den grå himmel, og hun drejede mod højlandet.