It's Sunday morning, and, as I sit, coffee mug in-hand and waiting to truly awaken, a report on Good Morning America pierced my blurry morning reverie.
The GMA reporter (whose name evades me, forgive, please: really, the synapses are not firing this morning for things like specific names of humans)--the reporter was in Iceland, reporting on the power of the volcano that is in the throes of foaling gas, glass and rocks. Because of its location, strategically perched on the upper half of the world, and on the Gulf Stream--this volcano is wreaking havoc in European and American airports, as the plume of poisonous junk is preventing planes from taking off or landing--in effect, stranding millions of travelers and effecting the economies of each country as the airlines lose billions of dollars.
We rarely think about something like a volcano, and how it may change Life as we know it. It's a major inconvenience. But it is more than that: as economies suffer from this present belching of the Earth, many lives will be touched as prices rise and many nations struggle to recover from the domino effect caused by this event.
But no one is more at peril from the heaving and blowing of the Icelandic volcano than the Icelandic Horses who are stranded in the Restricted Zone.
The emboldened reporter, accompanied by an official guide in (that which I hope was) a safe, Hummer-like vehicle--drove straight into the Restricted Zone, where the blues skies of the rest of Iceland surrended and become a sickening shade of yellowish-brown, then black, as they drove closer to the foul-mouthed monster pustule on the head of the Earth.
M.E. Altieri
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