On The Write Path

Green Peace

Kiwi, pear... lychee sorbet... guava.

The smoothie quenches my thirst, tingles my mouth.

I tell a young student that I could be her great-grandfather. She doesn't believe me. So I tell her I'm over 200 years old (not old for a vampire). She laughs. She's a native of O'ahu, lives ewa*.

Laughter is good for this elder... especially as I wish to continue to grow older.

I take my plastic cup and search for the garden where she has pointed.

Behind an impressive white building of wide eaves, arcades... and tall doorways... there it is.

The Japanese Garden: gifted by the government; with a tree planted by the emperor-to-be in 1964.

It is serene. It is green. And water runs through it.

Diamondhead* there is a dry ridge turning yellow. But by the stream below the park in a ravine all is green. Within the gardens it's greener.

I gather my senses: the sight of a stone lantern, the sound of flowing water, the touch of black lava rock, a potpourri of smells, the movement of bamboo in a light breeze, a taste of lychee lingers.

I take photos of the koi: black, orange and white. The fingerlings swarm in the shallows among rocks, flee from my presence as tadpoles wiggle. There's a bird I don't know! But like most birds it won't pose for a picture.

I follow the stone path, aware of the crunch under my shoes. Around a bend I see smoke; it's the bamboo-cutter taking a break. The air is moist; my high-desert lungs are confused. Is this right? Can I breathe easy?

I ascend uneven stones to the tea house. It sits in repose... shuttered. Even the cupped chains of the downspout remain silent.

The tea-house is wooden. The wood is weathered. I seek refuge from the sun on a stone step under its wide eaves, my back against the smooth wall, facing makai*. I look out at leaves, a bright yellow-green and listen to the silence of quiet people. Until a young woman passes in front, goes diamondhead around a bend and disappears. I follow later. There's a path to a shrine. I'm on the other side and the reflections are wonderful! The arcade of the white building sits solid, ewa across the water; it waves with the ripples. Fish swim unconcerned.

A small black ant visits my orange shirt. Does it think I'm a flower and my sweat of some use? A fly visits the page while I'm writing. It finds nothing of interest and flies off.

The smoothie is gone but I go back to check out what it's called: Green Peace.

And so it is.

         Thirst, and a flow of water.
         One fallen yellow flower.

© Kåre Enga [travel.1] 27.february.2015


*ewa: west
*diamondhead: east
*makai: towards the sea (mauka is towards the mountains).