Nearby, long dark planes of sugarcane rustle in the light trade winds. Traffic along the highway hums, adding its inorganic counterpoint to the proceedings.
Inside the car, I see my hanai son Snapchatting someone—a fleeting moment, intended to be so, but captured nevertheless. What is memory but a collection of these things? And what is reality, if not a condensation of memory? The day is a pointillist canvas, if you look at it a certain way.
Like when the angle of light finally yields to night’s gravity, and the day… subsides. And then you remember the brush strokes, the dots, the splatters, the lines broken or continuous.
The arc of the day.
A beautiful early morning to reach 54 by...
Fins, inverted and etched upon the sheltering sky: stylized, slouching penguins. ;-)
Dew on grass at a Kulamalu parking lot. In the car, Pono finishes up a native breakfast...
Three generations of Hawaiians. Early morning tableau out on the lanai, of people I have come to call family.
School breakfast was boiled eggs and grits, unliked. So, brought Pono grapes and an apple, on way to work.
Moments before sunrise: yes, do go thataway! ;-) KS Maui high school parking lot, having just dropped Pono off.
Before sunrise. 6:52 a.m., Pukalani LDS Ward parking lot.
It's a stormy day and epic surf is rolling in (see the white line faintly visible way downhill).
Turning around, I beheld the massive swell of the volcano, akin to a wave beginning to crest.