Ночной восход

تولدتان مبارک، موراوى!

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غزل بد صحبت و ساعت را نيكو شمرديم محل بد جنّت بگو كى تا او ره سپرديم جبل بد مقصود ما ليكن بالا نرفتيم عسل بد مطلوب ما ليكن مىها نخورديم شكستم اوهام دانائى در قلب مخمور نشستم در پاى زيبارو با حسّ مستور كه هستم بر تلّ بالاتر از تخت ارتور و مستم از خمر گيراتر از خون انگور

Tæxt-e Ærtur is Arthur's Seat, a mountain in the middle of Edinburgh. I had a gorgeous view of it from the window of my study bedroom, a sight I loved as soon as I moved in, on a misty morning in October 1991. (The view of the city from the top of the mountain, as I found out before long, was no less remarkable. Especially on a sunny day.)

I was given a schedule of a week's worth of social events for new residents. One of the items went like this: ‘Stupidity. A walk up Arthur's Seat, at 2am.’

‘Rightly is it called so,’ I thought: one doesn't climb mountains at night in one's whole mind, and that's a fact.

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Тем не менее ночной подъем (и спуск!) был совершен. В очень приятной компании.

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Head sünnipäeva, gerro!