Soup?

It is disturbing not to have regularly jotted noteworthy items that incrementally massage one’s life onto another course. Yet here on this speck of dirt in a rather large pond, life drifts around and through all of us with only the edges showing signs of wear, tear and polish. Internally, we still hide the dark, inconsistencies. Speck of dirt…better noted is lava, not dirt. Lava that is black, hard, sharp, and beautiful in its consistency and constancy. For over nine months, this island’s mornings have caressed and cajoled this one to arise and drive to work. It does not seem respectable to retreat into a building after experiencing such tempting surroundings. Yet one must work to attain and keep a place in paradise. The earth is daily born and reborn here with no regard to the mineral, plant or animal inhabitants or habitats. The seeming tragedies this spawns are in appearance only. Most endure the birthing ritual and celebrate it through the scientific method or spiritual convention. Requited or not, the active and passive majesty of the surrounding mountains provide solace for those seeking kindred knowledge of a time when all was primitive. As an afterthought, the land is blessed (some say cursed) with rainfall that rival the earth’s wettest. For some the rain is maddening, for others it is evidence of the progression from earth’s black crystalline steel to a deciding migration yielding warm, comforting sand or hallow, bounteous ground. It was all this way once. I cannot imagine not being here.