Ashes

When Mt. St. Helens erupted in 1980, I was in kindergarten. The day grew dark and on TV we saw pictures of the streetlamps in downtown Spokane, all turned on as if it were night. Ashes began sifting down onto us from the sky, covering the ground like very fine, grey snow. We scooped up ashes from our driveway and put them in this jar, where they've stayed for the last 24 years. When we went to school, we had to wear masks outside, and had to have our parents' permission to go outside at recess. It was a pretty exciting time, and a little scary, too.

I'm excited for the impending eruption. It will be tiny compared to 1980, but still a big event, and it feels a little like waiting for Christmas but not knowing when it will come. No ashes are likely to fall on me this time, and no one is likely to die, and the rocks might fly a mere five miles from the cone, but I'm checking the news every hour, just in case.