Thursday, September 3, 2009


It’s 9 a.m. Hawaiian time, 6 a.m. Pacific time, and I find myself sitting on the lanai of a friend’s condo in Oahu.

I can’t sleep. My body’s on Pacific time so I must get up. I stagger to the kitchen, make a pot of coffee, then I look up and out. What an incredible view.
Her unit is on the fourteenth floor of a thirty-five story building, and the view is breathtaking.

I grab a cup of coffee, my laptop and head for the lanai. The view is of massive green mountains, partially obscured by dense, bloated clouds, black on the bottom, rising to white cumulus, thinning into oblivion as wisps of filigreed lace, and all ringed in a dazzling gold by the sun’s fierce glow behind them.

Towering high-rises sit plump and regal amidst Banyon, Mangos and Fan Palm trees, while tiny roads thread their way through the city to the suburbs and beyond.

Delicious aromas of plumeria, antherium and gardenia float on the tropical breezes bringing a soothing balm to all.

I close my eyes and visualize what this island looked like before it was covered with concrete, wood, glass and asphalt.

What spark of life led this heretofore lava mountain to come to life. Geologists say that after eons of volcanic eruptions in the seabed, the first and largest volcano reared its head from the ocean and looked about. Novelist James Michener credits a tired sea bird who deposited the beginnings of the flora and fauna of this verdant island. I imagine that after a long flight from some far-off place, the little sea bird came upon a wondrous site; somewhere to perch and gain strength to fly on.

After depositing the remnants of his last meal onto the bare lava, he blithely set out again as his DNA required. And from that one small offering, to what I see before me, I’d like to thank that little sea bird as I sit here and marvel at the wonder of nature and creation.

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