Some time ago, a town was written off.
Submerged by its own river.
The river filled with ashes.
Ashes from a volcano thought to be asleep for an eternity.
But asleep isn’t dead.
Now debris are still there.
Tourists, like me, roam around them.
We take pictures; for which reason?
There is a bizarre beauty in the disaster.
Gigantic plants invading the ruins.
But go closer and the belongings of human beings,
the exact same race as the one now photographing, remain.
Pairs of shoes and jeans.
Some that don’t even bear any trace of dirt.