I look over the rim of the caldera and brush Pele’s hair,

and realize I am in the path of danger.

I don’t have to wait for the eruption and meet death. But I do.

The peace of climbing to the top of the volcano abruptly ends.

Now, there is an unexpected fury that never ends; it is bone-felt on other sides of the earth.

The volcano’s greyish ash clouds hover across swaths of land.

The burnished sun is seen thousands of miles away.

His white hot molten lava of words flows unevenly.

I witness the intermittent roiling rage as he spews fumes at me.

The steam burns my face, and I walk away from Kilauea.

Never to look back.


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