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We were due to pass through the Strait of Messina around midnight. As we were sailing from the East, Stromboli would come up soon on our left. At first all we could see in the night sky were massive clouds, not the volcano, but a bank of thunderstorms, lightening breaking over the horizon toward African coasts. Then much closer than we had imagined, suddenly, the huge stump of Stromboli came into sight, glowing at its summit, a trail of smoke darker than the night streaming into the wind. The island looked peaceful, serene, a restful retreat. The inhabitants and visitors on this summer night slept on a cauldron, as unimaginable forces pressed upward into the cone of the volcano. A violent thunderstorm on the horizon was as nothing in comparison to the forces deep within the earth breaking forth far above us, what we could not see, but only imagine.
We were due to pass through the Strait of Messina around midnight. As we were sailing from the East, Stromboli would come up soon on our left. At first all we could see in the night sky were massive clouds, not the volcano, but a bank of thunderstorms, lightening breaking over the horizon toward African coasts. Then much closer than we had imagined, suddenly, the huge stump of Stromboli came into sight, glowing at its summit, a trail of smoke darker than the night streaming into the wind. The island looked peaceful, serene, a restful retreat. The inhabitants and visitors on this summer night slept on a cauldron, as unimaginable forces pressed upward into the cone of the volcano. A violent thunderstorm on the horizon was as nothing in comparison to the forces deep within the earth breaking forth far above us, what we could not see, but only imagine.