Sunset, sunrise, another day

Sunset on the eastern shore. The sun tucks behind mountains as they gather the clouds sweeping in overhead.The sky is powder blue and neon orange and dusty, night-tinged purple-pink. Clouds stand pure puffy white gigantic against the growing grey. Some make shapes, letters, characters, words in languages I can’t understand. Some are the hands of some sky-cloud god, I swear, reaching for the land. If I were at this sky’s mercy, I’d pray to you for rain too. I’d call to the wind, personify you, and burn fires to sacrifice precious charcoal to your made-up name.

ハワイ妖怪 (Hawai’i ghosts), I would sing and dance. And praise you when you gave me secret dreams of happiness in the night. But since I do not know you, I can only show respect.

As far as my eyes can see, it is open ocean. Nothing but water and cloud, water and cloud, on and on until you reach not Japan, but the Pacific Northwest. I reach Washington and home. I can stare out at the distance between us and realize it is farther than five hours makes it seem. Should planes stop flying, I’d be grounded here for months.

Adapting now is what’s cool. The thing to do. So I’m learning to drink my coffee the tropical way — raw cacao, coconut milk, and cane sugar. No milk because there are no cows or goats to be milked here. Eggs come from the mainland and are processed, chem-washed, and waxed. There are roosters and chickens, but you are hard pressed to find their eggs for some reason.

I wake and feel hungry, but I’m thirsty so I have a breakfast of water. Second breakfast of coffee as described. Third breakfast of fried apple banana, mangos, and rice.

Cats shouldn’t be locked inside human structures. They get angry. I know why, but I don’t enjoy their bitter and resentful company. They want things from me I don’t understand. When I don’t give, they piss on my bed — apparently.

All morning wasted washing sheets and pillows that still smell like piss. I had to wash my face because I inadvertently stuck my nose in it. Fucking sick.

I’ll get out soon and fix my broken gear-shift cable after a dragging uneventful ride down to the shop, stuck in the slowest gear possible. I’ll cruise along like I have nowhere to go, and when I get my cable re-installed — get back to life at the speed I like.

Venture down, again, to the beach. Funny how its proximity and the air here makes me feel guilty, strange, off if I’m not there. Maybe it’s preconceived notions. Maybe it’s just that nowhere else is as nice. Maybe, today, I will dive in the water. Maybe I will find sea swallows brilliant glittering white-blue on the sand. Maybe I will use seed pods like paintbrushes again and write in 平仮名 (hiragana) just because I can. Maybe I will leave マジック (majika) marks all over this mountainous ocean land.

No plans. Don’t need any. Just rolling with the flow.

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