During a road trip,  from San Francisco to Vancouver, I almost by-passed Mount St. Helens. This was about ten years after its catastrophic eruption and the event was not in the forefront of my mind.

But the Welcome Center beckoned and I drove in.

Even after a decade, the apocalyptic sights were in evidence. Acres and acres of barren earth bared trees stripped of living bark and leaves. The trunks seemed haphazardly arranged on inconceivable planes. What had been lakes were now dry beds. Colors were mostly muted, gray.

But the earth was beginning to heal.

Wildflowers were growing amongst the silver limbs of the fallen trees.