Room to roam,
Sky to soar,
Land without fences,
Rivers without dams,
So everything contained in me,
Has someplace else to be.
Hawaii is tiny. To make it even smaller, it's a grouping of teeny islands in the great blue ocean! It held it's share of comforts and luxuries of course. OK. More than its share. I love o'ahu and I'm hoping to make it back there someday, not as a tourist. I'd like to be LOCAL.
The breeze that used to blow through or little single wall home felt like life to me. If ever it stopped, I felt like God died. What happened? What's wrong? Where'd He go? The ocean was so many colors of blue. It wasn't just endless horizon. It was reef, beach, cliff, cave, tide pool and surf. So? Well, the land was so tiny. We'd go driving on the north shore. My eye would roam over the pineapple fields and up to the mountains. . . back down again and soon (too soon) end up looking at the great blue.
There was a restlessness in me. I felt my eye could never get its fill. I could not see far enough. I couldn't feel my way across the nation. I had no confidence in the earth I was standing on. What a great imagination I have! To think that I really needed to know there were forty-something states of mountains, prairie, desert, and plains behind me!
Anyhow, somehow, it is true. So here I am in Washington with season changes upon me. Every time Summer leaves me, I am only able to let it go because Fall is a gentle beauty. But Winter? She is not beautiful. And she wears out her welcome wherever she goes! So here I have some words from mine own pen, written back on the warm ever-beautiful island of O'ahu:
I long to see a land,
as barren as my soul.
I'd like to see grand,
and on some distant shore.
Watch it stretch long in the morning,
See it curl up tight at night.
Smell it take in the wind and the rain and the sun,
Feel it turn its face to the light of the moon.
If I could see a land,
as barren as my soul,
begin to live again,
I would . . .
Stretch long in the morning,
curl up tight at night,
take the wind and the rain and the sun,
and by the light of the moon,
begin to live again.
So you see, I became sort of obsessed. Here's another, (though written after the move.):
Our Spring wears mostly green,
our Summer is the quickest runner,
Our Fall tarries not at all,
and only on special occasion our Winter,
wears a great white gown of glitter.
There is another I had written just before the great storm. But it's lost. . .written on loose leafs. Something like living like the seasons. . .tidying up for spring, hunkering down for winter, and in the fall painting myself with color. A bunch of romanticism!
Anyhow, I'm over it, and the weather is getting bad! The beauty of this fall will win me over as it always does. . . and Winter will make me dream of the glorious Spring when I can watch with wonder as the land begins to live again.
