You probably already know that Mount St. Helens experienced a minor eruption yesterday, almost precisely 25 years since the big one in 1980. Still, the burst was enough to send ash and steam nearly 7 miles high into the evening sky—a rather humbling reminder of nature’s magnitude and scale, I thought.
It put me in mind of one of my favorite poems—a sort of geological love-poem—from the inimitable Northwest poet, Gregory Hischak. Here are a few lines:
The calm eye of a hurricane / Curled in the passenger seat / She breathes quietly now, she sleeps / She is possibly volcanic in origin.