I love it that everyone has become an expert on different types of volcanic ash: your Icelandic ash, you see, is finer and glassier than your continental European ash, which contains a lot more pumice. Meanwhile your Indonesian Ash? Well, much darker, blocks a lot more sunlight.You wouldn't want to fly through that.
Who knew, a week ago, that there were different types of ash?
3 comments:
Anonymous
said...
All I know is that Volcanic Ash is problematic and causes travel chaos to those near and far :-(
Oh boy oh boy oh boy how lucky we are humans! Even in natural disasters we are spoilt for choice and variety…I thought the following poem by my favorite Poet Stanley Kunitz (from his Collection “Intellectual Things’ published in 1930 and influenced by William Blake “For the tear is an intellectual thing”) has a lovely message to convey! Enjoy!
ORGANIC BLOOM
The brain constructs its systems to enclose The steady paradox of thought and sense; Momentously its tissued meaning grows To solve and integrate experience. But life escapes closed reason. We explain Our chaos into cosmos, cell by cell, Only to learn of some insidious pain Beyond the limits of our charted hell, A guilt nor mentioned in our prayers, a sin Conceived against the self. So, vast and vaster The plasmic circles of gray discipline Spread outward to include each new disaster. Enormous floats the brain’s organic bloom Till, bursting like a fruit, it scatters doom.
3 comments:
All I know is that Volcanic Ash is problematic and causes travel chaos to those near and far :-(
Did you know Icelanders have 24 different words for volcanic ash. Not many people know that.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy how lucky we are humans! Even in natural disasters we are spoilt for choice and variety…I thought the following poem by my favorite Poet Stanley Kunitz (from his Collection “Intellectual Things’ published in 1930 and influenced by William Blake “For the tear is an intellectual thing”) has a lovely message to convey!
Enjoy!
ORGANIC BLOOM
The brain constructs its systems to enclose
The steady paradox of thought and sense;
Momentously its tissued meaning grows
To solve and integrate experience.
But life escapes closed reason. We explain
Our chaos into cosmos, cell by cell,
Only to learn of some insidious pain
Beyond the limits of our charted hell,
A guilt nor mentioned in our prayers, a sin
Conceived against the self. So, vast and vaster
The plasmic circles of gray discipline
Spread outward to include each new disaster.
Enormous floats the brain’s organic bloom
Till, bursting like a fruit, it scatters doom.
Post a Comment