One night on the island I went to last winter, I got to hang out with Ms F. She lives alone with her dog on top of an active volcano. The landscape up there is surreal, like a small, small dark planet. Vast, black and desolate except for her old trailer and the few greens she planted surrounding it. Imagine the trailer as a small dot in that immense dead terrain. The night sky, with fleeting clouds and still so many visible stars, connecting with the horizon in every direction. It was quiet except for her windchimes, and in the distans, the giant waves hitting rocky shores far beneath the plateau. And the huge cloud of fire. Erupting constantly. The magic of that night.