Remembering Mayon
It has been a couple of years already since I last saw the mammoth Mayon Volcano. I was browsing several photo albums among my heap of files until I came across several photos I took of Mayon when I was still in Legaspi City in Bicolandia.
I would either drive for 10 hours or fly for 30 minutes. Either way, each travel gives an exhilarating view of Mayon Volcano, whose lips puff steady white smoke to the heavens.
In fact, on a clear day for flight 
to Manila, the Philippine Airline pilot [there's only one PAL flight everyday] would fly very near Mayon’s crater, tilt the plane sidewards, and hover over it a couple of times for passengers to see at close range the magnificent volcano and the smoke coming from its peak.
More magnificent was Mayon’s eruption. At dusk, one could easily see from the city 
the red ooze of molten rocks slowly crawling down its slopes–and no Lord of the Ring film could beat that. Bicolanos would go up the nearby Lignon Hill, settle down on seats, and guzzle beer.
This magnificent eruption of incredible power came with peril, too. Several kilometers from the volcano’s foot is Cagsawa Church’s ruins, a relic of Mayon’s tempestuous assail on Bicolandia. From time to time, this tourist spot gets trodden by the pyroplastic slush, reshaping the land and its story. As recorded in the history annals, t
he town folks took shelter inside the stone church and hid in the adjacent convent, seeking comfort from God’s bosom.
Yet, fate had another plan. While the people took shelter in the church’s mighty stone walls, a slew of debris and molten rock flowed, flooding Cagsawa with molten hell.
With this incredible mammoth of a wonder and a story of its perilous past and its scenic present, who would have thought that one can capture these in each photo for a keepsake in the future?
