Abandoned ski fields, slopes peppered
with ash, a mottled bruise visible
from the Desert Road, a vivid handprint
slapped against her eastern face.
A pungent breath of smoke
escapes into the frigid wind.
Glacial tears tumble, leaving tracks
like dirty smudges of mascara.
A low, smouldering rumble heats
the chilly air, sending sullen bursts
of steam to torment fragile snowflakes.
Rage simmers, roiling through her veins.
Internal pressure builds, surges
as tremors shake her very foundations.
Fury spews from her throat,
sending sprays of red hot viciousness
to speckle the underbellies of the clouds above.
She hurls lava and rocks
arrowing down the incline, but
her temper is spent, her aim short.
Regret and exhaustion set in,
trembling slowly eases, and
for now, Ruapehu rests.