Most of the other people on the bus with me had retreated
into the nearby visitor's center. Braving the smell, I walked to the edge of
the parking lot and stared in wonder at the scars on the outer edges of Mt.
Aso's crater. I followed the scars upward to the rim of the crater. That giant
re-entered my imagination, and I swear that I could almost see him drawing in
the earth.
With my eyes focused on the rim, I spent what seemed like endless minutes watching a plume of white smoke roll skyward from the bowels of the mountain. The smoke was white tinged with gray. It wasn't like the stream of smoke that comes from a chimney. Rather, it was like a thick, fluffy cloud slowly rising beneath the Earth.
I could have stayed there all day, just staring at this destructive wonder of nature. The smoke plume, the gouges in the land, and the volcano itself held me in a powerful hypnotic grip. The stark beauty of the volcano and what it could do was a fascinating contrast to the rocks and trees and fields that I'd seen less than two hours ago. But it was easy to reconcile this contrast, considering its source. Nature has a way of making it seemingly ugly and destructive offspring as visually stunning as its most benign creations.
All too soon, though, it was time to get back on board the
bus and continue on my way. As I took my seat, I also took in the lesson I'd
learned from this bus ride: always keep at least one eye on the window. If you
don't, you'll miss something. And you'll wind up being a lot poorer if you do
miss what's out there waiting to be seen.