a word. or two.

IMG_4128 by InkSpot's Blot
IMG_4128, a photo by InkSpot’s Blot on Flickr.

May 2011. Etna was belching again, strong enough to shut down flights in and out of Catania. Further south, we searched the sky for signs of ash, but there were none.

Much later in this Sicily trip, we drove north. Encountered many sight, ranging from beautiful to strange to perfectly average. Ruins and beaches. Old cranky towns built into the steep slopes. Traffic. Tourists. Etna was the common theme among all of them. If we could not see her in the background, pieces of her were beneath our feet, at our shoulders where we leaned against walls. She was in the shape of the land, too, and what it bore. She was the bones of the place in some regard. The flesh, too. We drank her, and ate her. I’m sure of it.

Being on Etna was different. Ironically the physical communion afforded by distance could not be found here. instead, up close she struck deep and hard. She drew out emotion, wonder and awe. Here she cradled us, forced us to see the impact of her hot ugly tears. She baked and chilled us. But she was not just scars. She was creation, too.

It strikes me that life is a little like she is. Stasis. Upheaval. Turmoil. The breaking down to build it up. She destroys and recreates in the same breathe. She is dangerous, to be sure. Force and energy. She is, and will continue to be.


3 thoughts on “a word. or two.

  1. Actually I just looked at this picture again and thought you had gone to Julian. It is very similar in texture right now, the dead trees from the old fire, new growth. Sad and hopeful at the same time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s