When first I saw you
I was 21 and blissful.
You were spewing lava:
slow drools of red through the black night
under a cold rain.
I thought that was just how volcanoes behaved.
Today, when I visit you, you are quieter
I am louder
You are just as tall as ever
And so am I
I see how you command the clouds
I see the forests on your flanks and the scars through the trees;
I never noticed those before.
You’ve still got an angry-powerful core,
But now it’s just for you.
I didn’t have one yet, the night I met you.
Now I look at you and smile.
Inspired by the no-longer-lava-spewing Volcán Arenal, and by The Daily from The New York Times, “Keeping Harvey Weinstein’s Secrets, Part 1.”
I’m a writer in San José, Costa Rica, on a year-long quest to share daily posts on inspiring people, places and ideas from my adopted home as a kind of tonic during a rough time in the world. Sign up (top right of this page) to receive a little dose of inspiration every weekday in your mailbox; tell a friend; check out past posts; and please connect with me on Instagram or Facebook!