Here we sat, Sunday, in the midst of the great Eyjafjallajokull eruption. Thousands of people are stranded, or have had their long-planned trips ruined. It’s just occurred to us that imports and exports to/from Holland may soon be affected (especially as regards produce and/or wine). But on Sunday, it was definitely spring in Groningen, 62 and sunny, and this is what it looked like under the ash.
As I opened the French doors to bring out my Kindle and glass of Pinot Gris, it struck me how much the ash and our (lack of) experience of it is like a science fiction story. You know the plot: there’s some looming ecological or supernatural disaster, but really no evidence of it. The newscasters tell the townspeople they’re doomed, but the unbelievers stay in their suburban homes until they’ve been suffocated by a gaseous cloud or smooshed by a lowering sky.
At least I got a little bit of sun on my face last Sunday, before the ash kills us all.