Once, two women hiked a volcano, stood on the lip, and watched the fire move in the crater’s mouth. Neither spoke. Not even when the ground began to shake and they felt the rumble through their soles and up their legs. They just stood there, eyes fixed. Later both admitted the truth: each felt an urge to leap. What is it we could give our lives for? A mountain, a fire, a view from the cliff. Every year, on the coast where I live, tourists die, amazed by the Monterey Bay, swept from the shelf of rock overlooking the waves. And, farther north, some people try to get so close to grizzly bears they end up taking their stories with them into the darkness of the animal itself, surrendering to its life of fur and forage to lumber through the woods at night, becoming, at last, a gorgeous, insatiable beast.