We built our house at the base of the mountain. When the tremors began, we ignored them. When fire and ash rained from the sky we covered our heads but did not run. We knew in our hearts: this is how it ends. When they come in a hundred years they will see green grass and purple blossoms. They will know nothing of the pain save for the hollows of our bodies.
I think I started this in 2019? and just wrote the last two lines today.