Ernest Hemingway and the Latest Quake

In fact the Earth never stops moving. Northbound in our millimetric shoving we heap rainy Papua ahead of us with tremor and fumarole and shear but: no life without this under-ruckus. The armoured shell of Venus doesn't move. She is trapped in her static of hell. The heat of her inner weight feeds enormous volcanoes in that gold atmosphere which her steam oceans boil above. Venus has never known love: that was a European error. Heat that would prevent us gets expressed as continent-tiles being stressed and rifted. These make Earth the planet for lovers. If coral edging under icy covers or, too evolutionary slow for human histories to observe it, a low coastline faulting up to be a tree-line blur landscape in rare jolts of travel that squash collapsing masonry with blood then frantic thousands pay for all of us.