Dusk now... Pukalani exit off Haleakala Highway.

November 25th, 2013, 6pm

It was 27.2°C with scattered clouds. There was moderate breeze.

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.

Sanna, Adrian and Cassie said thanks.

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Lloyd Nebres

I lived in a village and homestead set aside for people of Hawaiian ancestry. I am not Hawaiian but had been adopted into the culture—to my profound gratitude.

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