Portraits of Kauai
Mar. 8th, 2014 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shannon_aThe Swim. The sky and sea are cool and gray. We swim through the waters. Bubbles dot the surface as rain drops strike it. In contrast, another day: a blue, sun-filled sky. Warm, blue waters are filled with colorful fishing darting here and there beneath the surface. One moves rocks again and again, building some submarine nest; others school and swim to and fro. We swim through those waters too.
The Show. A wet, muddy street. Water pools in huge pot holes, creating a checker board landscape. The rain drifts down from the sky, making everything wetter still. To the sides of the street are light-filled galleries of art and jewelry. Entering a shop, your gritty, mud-clogged slippas feel out of place, so you beat them on the entry mat as hard as you can, but the ubiquitous red dirt clings on.
The North Shore. Rain, rain, rain. A covered balcony full of diners. Beyond them is Hanalei Bay and beyond that mountains, holding the Bay in their embrace. A mist rises, obscuring the mountains entirely; it drifts away, leaving them faintly visible, like ghosts across the water.
The Trudge. We are tired and wet from the sea, but the sun melts away the water and infuses our muscles with strength and light. We trudge up the road, weighed down by many burdens. Mary has disappeared, never returning to pick us up. Work must be busy. We trudge on, keeping an eagle eye out for her car.
The Night. Back at home, hidden in a room filled with light and books. The wind whips about outside, shaking the trees. A drier chugs and turns in the distance, sounding like a dying thing. It is a sanctuary from the night.
The Show. A wet, muddy street. Water pools in huge pot holes, creating a checker board landscape. The rain drifts down from the sky, making everything wetter still. To the sides of the street are light-filled galleries of art and jewelry. Entering a shop, your gritty, mud-clogged slippas feel out of place, so you beat them on the entry mat as hard as you can, but the ubiquitous red dirt clings on.
The North Shore. Rain, rain, rain. A covered balcony full of diners. Beyond them is Hanalei Bay and beyond that mountains, holding the Bay in their embrace. A mist rises, obscuring the mountains entirely; it drifts away, leaving them faintly visible, like ghosts across the water.
The Trudge. We are tired and wet from the sea, but the sun melts away the water and infuses our muscles with strength and light. We trudge up the road, weighed down by many burdens. Mary has disappeared, never returning to pick us up. Work must be busy. We trudge on, keeping an eagle eye out for her car.
The Night. Back at home, hidden in a room filled with light and books. The wind whips about outside, shaking the trees. A drier chugs and turns in the distance, sounding like a dying thing. It is a sanctuary from the night.