The Island


The island  appeared to my eyes with the sunset breaking through the clouds. Small red cluster of light traced an eye of a living vulcano from my dreamy imaginations. I knew, I felt it so well, that Sicily was close, somewhere there – below the curtain of clouds, below the fog. That hot mountain had attracted me for so long. I dreamed to look into the crater, to reach the top, to defeat my weakness. Because climbing a vulcano is like a fight. A fight with my physical abilities, fear, weather, heat and loneliness. Each step collaps into the lava clods and you feel the heat from inside, the mountain mutters.

But… I did not know it on the plane yet. I didn’t know what was waiting for me beneath, on the land.


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