Ignore the glaciers on your first attempt, get a toe-hold, tie yourself on; this mountain might shrug, throw you off, if you approach armed with ice picks, crampons and maps for the trek out. This is no extinct volcano after all, ramrod stiff and waiting to be conquered; the core still churns and boils somewhere below the surface, no-one knows how far, or when it will erupt, but she could tilt the land and flush the rivers on a whim. Once started, she could divide the ocean, found continents, explode the earth across the sky. This mother knows better than you. Ducts that nourished a generation still flow with dreams for a new world. She might wait forever and be content beyond the reach of travellers, hidden from the explorer’s eye, or she might shift and drop a tear that vaporises rock, makes the ocean sizzle on my shore.