translator


Afrikaans
Albanian - shqipe
Arabic - ‎‫العربية‬‎
Armenian - Հայերէն
Azerbaijani - azərbaycanca
Basque - euskara
Belarusian - беларуская
Bengali - বাংলা
Bulgarian - български
Catalan - català
Chinese - 中文（简体中文）
Chinese - 中文 (繁體中文)
Croatian - hrvatski
Czech - čeština
Danish - dansk
Dutch - Nederlands
English
Esperanto - esperanto
Estonian - eesti
Filipino
Finnish - suomi
French - français
Galician - galego
Georgian - ქართული
German - Deutsch
Greek - Ελληνικά
Gujarati - ગુજરાતી
Haitian Creole - kreyòl ayisyen
Hebrew - ‎‫עברית‬‎
Hindi - हिन्दी
Hungarian - magyar
Icelandic - íslenska
Indonesian - Bahasa Indonesia
Irish - Gaeilge
Italian - italiano
Japanese - 日本語
Kannada - ಕನ್ನಡ
Korean - 한국어
Latin - Lingua Latina
Latvian - latviešu
Lithuanian - lietuvių
Macedonian - македонски
Malay - Bahasa Melayu
Maltese - Malti
Norwegian - norsk
Persian - ‎‫فارسی‬‎
Polish - polski
Portuguese - português
Romanian - română
Russian - русский
Serbian - Српски
Slovak - slovenčina
Slovenian - slovenščina
Spanish - español
Swahili - Kiswahili
Swedish - svenska
Tamil - தமிழ்
Telugu - తెలుగు
Thai - ไทย
Turkish - Türkçe
Ukrainian - українська
Urdu - ‎‫اردو‬‎
Vietnamese - Tiếng Việt
Welsh - Cymraeg
Yiddish - יידיש




Double-click

Select to translate
At some point you have to blow the webs of lethargy and illness away, shake out the feathers and head back out.  

So Mu and I set out through the lanes from Clontafleece, inventing our perfect lives as we've often done as we walk (Mu: a soccer mom in the Blue Ridge Mountains in a white clapboard house with a wrap around porch (?!) Me: an island in Aegean Sea with enough wifi for me to carry on my work as an anthropologist specializing in Greek culinary traditions.)

We knew we'd arrived at Annett's when we saw the peacock on the churchyard wall.   He wasn't camera shy and was in the same spot when we left an hour later which made me wonder if he was real.