Descending a slope of modest decline, I observed my feet tumbling ahead upon the frozen ground. I judged my pedestrian display to be of fine form, the cartwheeling whorl of shin, knee, and foot spinning smoothly along the ice and snow. When, eventually, I stood asleep at rest and level, I spied on one stagnant boot a spot of red sliding thickly about the tongue. Through the sock at once my skin was warm then hot, and cordially the substance introduced itself as lava departed briefly from the upper mantle and sojourning in this wintry spot. Though its penetrating burn inclined me to turn down the offer, it was perhaps my recent descent that compelled me to drink with it a glass of boiling wine.