The earth is red like an apple
bobbing in a river, floating on a lake.
Twilight cannot make up its mind
if day or night is blue.
From a hilltop
the drilling and the trilling are one.
By moonlight a neighbor is on her roof
brandishing a cane.
Who shall arrange the stars
to set us straight?
Songbirds on a limb
delay their flights at dawn.
And over by the museum’s new wing
a Cézanne fruit bowl is drawing crowds.
The barren tree roots for ancient wisdoms
as the ocean knows what’s true.

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Carlos Eire arrived in Miami at age 11 in 1962, a refugee from Castro’s Cuba. Three years passed before his mother could join him, and he never saw his father again. This experience of dislocation profoundly shaped Eire’s work as a religious historian.
In his latest book, They Flew, Eire looks at early modern reports of miracles.

It’s 4:26 a.m., and I’m walking around the house while my wife sleeps upstairs. I’m feeling disoriented and discombobulated, just as I have for months, since May, when AI came for math.
The leaves are ablaze here in Ithaca, fiery reds and oranges, and I saw them swirling around in my backyard yesterday, following the streamlines of an eddy described by the Navier-Stokes equations.

Lefkés, a mountain village on the Greek island of Paros, is named after white poplars that once surrounded it. Beyond a cluster of houses, a Byzantine footpath meanders toward the Aegean. According to village lore, the path is not visible from Paros’s shoreline to protect Lefkés from pirates.
In the late 1960s, my Uncle Stelios bought a dilapidated house in Lefkés and, with my father’s help, rebuilt it into a majestic dwelling. This place became our family haven.

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A great movie soundtrack can be just as memorable as the film itself. A few notes might bring an entire scene rushing back, and an old song can find new life in the right movie. Below, six Atlantic staffers share their favorite film soundtracks of the 21st century.