As we climbed the Irasu crater, sulfurous fumes hissed and rose from fissures in the earth, like the planet gasping for breath with a low fever. Looking down at the emerald-green acidic lake, the guide suddenly pointed to its center—where pink ripples formed by extremophiles bloomed like flowers in the venom. "Death and life are always neighbors," he chuckled, handing us a face shield. On the descent, a torrential downpour began. We huddled in the observatory, munching on cornbread with black bean sauce, the windowpanes cracked like stars by raindrops and volcanic ash. On the way back, I touched the volcanic rock on the outside of my backpack; its porous surface still held the lingering warmth of the earth's heartbeat.