Writers and artists are little Vulcanites. We fan the flames of our inner lava and hope for major eruptions. From Roman mythology we get a glimpse of Vulcan, the God of fire and craftsmanship. His robes are a mess, torn and smudged, his hair singed and smoldering. He smells like a mix of burnt feathers and flan with a shot of sulfuric acid.
But he sure knew how to party. Smokin' good time was had by all the survivors. I have always had a thing for volcanoes. Walking on Hawaii's wierd folded lava flows is a primal experience. The strong fumes can be unnerving and the bleakness feels like the end of all things. But then you see a dinky fern flourishing in a crack.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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4 comments:
This post wouldn't be out of place as a chapter of "The Little Prince" - I love your descriptions :)
I always have a fascination for volcanoes, and vulcanologists; when I look out of my window, I can see the remains of an extinct volcano - what must it have been like when it was formed? Vulcanologists get to present at the making of the earth.
hi richard - i love the expression on the cat's face. was he looking through the binoculars into the lavalamp at the little people who live on and inside the coloured bubbles? see you ! steven
Kitty, you hope it's extinct. We live along a line of several volcanoes on the Pacific rim. It is called the Rim of Fire. Our closest volcano is Mt Rainier, and it is a whopper which could erupt big time. Or not. They play by their own rules. I like what you said: "the making of the earth".
Steven, I think that he had to turn the binoculars around and look through the wrong end to see the bloop people. I love your idea...
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