EASTERN JAVA, INDONESIA. As we faced heavenward to admire the constellations that reminded me a lot of a city’s nightscape, we felt the soft arrival of the ashes in our face. This is how we arrived. This is how Mt. Bromo welcomed us.
Outside our bare room, the railings were all covered in ashes. Even the terrace’s tiled floor was no exception. We curled and bundled up inside.
A dog played with a dead pigeon on an ashen field of leeks. It rained ashes once again. The nase goreng by Mt. Bromo’s viewing deck tasted good. We brought our own thermos and instant black coffee. We bought boiled water from a coffee vendor.
Coldness crept into the bones. Everyone bundled up. Vegetations died. Or in the verge of dying. Their leaves and weak branches were all pregnant of ashes. Farmers mourned.
We woke up at three in the morning and walked our way to the sunrise point. The crowd huddled. We climbed up and found a better view. We brought a thermos of coffee and sipped from our clay cups while waiting for the sun to rise.
Here are moments and memories froze in photographs.