Singing after the Rain

View from Opakapaka 3/27/2020

"Long as I remember the rain been comin' down
Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground
Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun
And I wonder still I wonder who'll stop the rain."
                                                            -- John Fogerty

Dead silence this morning just before dawn. Not a car, truck, bird or plane.

The sky fell last night, opened wide and let it pour. A relentless reminder that we are in one of the wettest spots on the planet. Atop an ancient volcano. Tangled up in green. Surrounded by blue that has turned angry grey

Lightning flashed like super-powered search lights, scanning the landscape thick with trees and tropical flora that must have woke up to see what was the matter.

Thunder cracked with sharp, jagged edges that showed no mercy. Straight into the skull nearly piercing the heart that skipped a beat.

Mama told me there would be days like this. But she didn't say where or when.

Our little cabin in the jungle held fast. Pounding, dripping water threatened to wash us away like a twig in the river. Rudderless in the time of pandemic.

Respite this morning gives us a welcome breather before the next onslaught. I turn on the radio to hear classical music on the local community channel. Make coffee. Check for leaks. See new ponds outside. Stay away from news.

We already know about 10 C-19 cases on the island, which is closed for most business and gatherings.

Yesterday we FaceTimed with our beloved daughter and grandkids. Such a joy to see their precious faces, hear their voices. If we could only touch their skin, feel their hair, give them hugs. Still, technology, in this instance, worked for us. Life in front of screens, however, is kind of a drag.

Understanding that a whopper storm was coming, Barbara and I tucked ourselves into Little Red and drove down the hillside, over the Hanalei Bridge (closed this morning) and into Magic Land. Few cars on the road made it easier and slightly eerie. We passed through Hanalei, Waipa', up and above Lumahai (where South Pacific was filmed) onward to Wainiha.

We crossed small, one-way bridges over rivers that were already fast-flowing into the roiling sea.

"I'm taking my jacket in case we can't get back over the rivers and have to spend the night," said my dear wife.

"Jacket?" I answered, and to myself said, I don't need no stinking jacket. I have no jacket.

We were in a slow race in real-time, meandering through little villages where people hunker down year-round, sometimes become stranded. It's a way of life on an island where weather changes by the second.

We arrived at Opakapaka Bar & Grill at water's edge. Nothing but ocean for thousands of miles. We peered at the approaching storm in the sky, moving toward us like a dark ghost over troubled water.

The grill is not open except for take-out. We took out two orders of fish & chips and headed home while  droplets began to spot our windshield. The scenery: drop-dead gorgeous.

At Big Save Market in Hanalei I picked up a small bottle of Bombay Saphire to complement our Friday night seafood dinner especial, and to celebrate another week of good fortune of being well and to count our blessings.