I once heard the phrase, “She’s not superstitious, she’s just a little stitious,” and I think that’s a pretty accurate way to describe the women in my family. They won’t overtly warn you of the occult, but you can tell they are the type to pay extra attention to signs in bird calls and odd synchronicities.

This was why, on the day Kristi, her husky R2D2, and I ran into a strange sign on the side of a volcano, I began to keep my eyes and perspective open a little wider. It was already hot despite it not even being 10 AM.

“The rattlesnakes and other creatures won’t be out this early,” Kristi assured me. The New Mexico sun beat down persistently, as it always did, but today I felt surprisingly energetic. Filled with spring fever restlessness, I welcomed the harsh sun on my cheeks and breathed in the strange desert air.

The world was just beginning to recover from COVID-19 lockdowns. Everything still felt surreal, lonely, and a little apocalyptic. Although I had physically returned to work, my mind was still tangled in pandemic burnout. I had no idea what I wanted from life anymore, questioning whether I should continue working in coffee or pursue something entirely different. Having spent nearly a decade in the coffee industry, mostly at the same store, the thought of not having a clear purpose terrified me, and to be honest, it still does sometimes.

Back in Boston, the winds were also hot, and a nagging feeling lingered in my mind, as if something were calling me or I was forgetting something important. Distressed, I did what I often do when feeling uncertain—I booked a plane ticket to visit a friend and impulsively decided to explore volcanoes.

I’m joking. Mostly. I did decide to seek out volcanoes, but they had been dormant for many years.

Known as the Three Sisters, these volcanoes peacefully slumber next to Albuquerque, so innocently that one might never guess their fiery origins. The Three Sisters are a type of volcano formed by fissure eruptions, which, when active, produce spectacular “curtains of fire.”

However, there were no curtains of fire before us, only the sun climbing high in the morning sky and a rocky trail leading into one of the sisters’ calderas.

As soon as the doors of Kristi’s four-door vehicle clicked open, both R2 and I eagerly stumbled forward, eager to see and experience something new. The three of us struggled to contain our excitement as we set off on the red rocky trail.

Amidst my existential restlessness, I had been trying to rediscover old hobbies—creating art beyond lattes, nurturing my love for learning about plants, rocks, and nature, and spending more time reading books on philosophy and my religion, Norse paganism.

I had just finished a book about the Norse god Loki, often portrayed as a mischief-maker who had once been trapped under a volcano for bringing about the end of the world. Many stories depicted Loki as a shapeshifter, devilishly clever, and always the instigator of chaos. Yet, despite causing turmoil, Loki often ended up aiding the day and occasionally acquiring some impressive spoils, like Thor’s Hammer. This pattern began with Loki’s birth; some stories claimed he was born from a large birch tree struck by lightning and set ablaze. The lesson, it seemed to me, was that perhaps embracing fluidity, change, light-hearted mischief, and transformation could lead to something new and better.

These were lessons I pondered but had yet to fully embrace. I had been entrenched in my life’s routines for so long that the thought of change was daunting. Burned out and seeking change, I wasn’t sure if I had the courage to commit fully.

About ten minutes into our hike from the trailhead, I noticed something odd just ahead in our little group. A stick lay strangely off the path, and Kristi, R2, and I were about to pass it by in two seconds. Without hesitation, I nudged Kristi and R2 forward a few steps, and the stick darted into the brush.

“Oh my God!” Kristi exclaimed, realizing we had narrowly avoided a close encounter with a five-foot rattlesnake.

I apologized for not mentioning it sooner, explaining that I had seen it just as we were passing and hurried us along to avoid startling it or R2.

We took a few deep breaths. Narrowing my eyes, I watched the snake slither away, recalling the details from the book about Loki—his associated colors, stones, and animals— like foxes… and snakes.

“Okay, Loki,” I muttered, half-seriously, “if you’re listening, change might be good. Just, no more snakes.”

After a few more breaths and sips of water, I turned to Kristi. “Why does it always have to be snakes?”

We continued more cautiously along the trail. Another ten minutes passed before we encountered a couple hiking toward us. They stopped to warn us about a baby rattlesnake napping on the trail just ahead. We thanked them and shared our own near-miss encounter.

“God is watching out for us today,” Kristi, a progressive Christian, remarked.

“Oh, definitely, and probably more than one of them,” I replied, grinning mischievously at the clouds.

Sure enough, a few paces further down the trail, a small grassy patch littered the middle of the trail. Curled up in one of the dirt mounts between the small sparse grass patches, snoozed a baby rattlesnake in the sunshine, completely camouflaged with the dirt and pebbles that cradled it, unless you were looking for it.

Kristi and I thanked our gods for sending us fellow hikers to warn us about the second snake. Later, we had the opportunity to warn another couple heading in our direction.

Once we reached the top of the trail and ventured into the volcanic crater, I suddenly felt a sense of reverence being in such an intimate part of the Sister. The crater’s lips rose around us, embraced by lava rocks blushing a violent red from iron and sunlight. Cool winds swept in, refreshing our sweaty foreheads, and any shyness melted away into giddiness at the volcano’s beauty. We snapped photos, careful to avoid getting too close to the rocky walls that made perfect sunbeds for rattlesnakes.

As I looked down at the breathtaking valley below once more before descending, I made a promise to myself—not to fear changing my life to make room for new and better things, to break free from old habits that might hinder me from exploring and experiencing life to its fullest.

Our journey down was uninterrupted by snakes, and we returned home feeling exhausted yet exhilarated from our hike up the volcano. Our legs trembled, and our minds raced with thoughts of divine omens, tectonic plates, fissure eruptions, what rattlesnakes might say if they could talk, and the curtains of fire that open the stage for a beautiful story.

When hiking on a volcano, dear readers, remember the clichés: don’t litter, wear sunscreen, and watch out for snakes and omens that may cross your path.