I was having one of those Poe-lite evenings last night.
You know the drill. Midnight dreary. Pondering weak and weary. Volume of forgotten lore.
Well, not quite. It was midnight, but hardly dreary. And I was in high gear on the computer. But there was an unexpected gentle rapping on my chamber door.
I was mid-sentence in one thing or another when everything started swaying. My first reaction was that I was simply tired. In that canoe-on-a-Vermont-lake-in- the-moonlight motion.
But I am world weary enough to recognize that romantic notions are usually further down the list of possibilities. And that was true last night. It was an earthquake.
I have written before about the earthquakes I have experienced here and in Oregon (all shook up; shake, rattle, and roll). And this one was rather classic. My computer table moved a bit. One of the little speakers frog-walked to the edge.
But it lasted long enough for me to get up and head for the door. Mexico has experienced two earthquakes recently large enough to damage property. So, I was more wary than usual.
As it turned out, I barely stood up and it was all over -- lasting less time than my last blind date.
All of the scientific data is on the map at the top of this post. The epicenter was about 30 miles off the Pacific coast -- or less than a hundred miles from me. There are more faults in this area than in a Chevy Volt. After all, I do not have to drive very far to see the plume of an active volcano. You can see Melaque on the left side of the map.
But, unlike "The Raven," my night did not resolve into the incomplete chords of melancholy. Earthquakes are an interesting conversation topic. But fearing them should be right up there with fearing being attacked by piranha in the bath.