When the Earth Stood Still

Wyllie's Beach, 4/24/20

I sit in dim morning light listening to the chickens and a full orchestra of birdsong compete for dawn's attention. Their music, coupled with the greenery beyond every window, stuns me. I don't want to move, rather simply allow another day to escort me somewhere, or just remain immobile, absorb the pleasant minutes between night and day, as if things could stay this way forever.

You can't fool Mother Nature. She will not stop for me. The rotation continues, in cycles.

The roar of surf rushing over the Anini reef has quieted since yesterday when it rose above background hum and we had to take notice. We were reminded that we are surrounded by water.

As the local community radio station's signature slogan says, "This is KKCR broadcasting from the middle of the Pacific Ocean." This morning's playlist includes two hours of classical music, a Saturday favorite.

Yesterday the Trade Winds cooled the afternoon, ordinarily a period when you wouldn't want to be anywhere but under shade, preferably provided by a leafy tree near the ocean.

We decide to hike down the steep trail to the cove at Wyllie's Beach. Since the heavy rains of about three weeks ago, we haven't seen any serious precipitation. It's amazing how fast the red dirt dries up, the lavatic ground is so porous. Even the grass has begun to yellow.

The gusty Trades make everything drier, especially the steep path that begins nearly 200-feet above sea level. We don't attempt this path after heavy rain when the trail becomes a true slippery slope.

The tangled foliage along the path has been cut back by work crews during our "down" period. It's an opportunity to clear the bushy ground-cover where you're likely to find anything from errant golf balls to abandoned, broken bicycles.

Wearing five-dollar "reef walkers" purchased at the ABC Store years ago, we tread lightly with small steps down the dry path that is fully engulfed in shade from a jungle of plants and trees. It is never a walk, more an adventure challenge.

We hear a fast-running creek that parallels the path, hidden by thick foliage. We see only glimpses of it. Don't go too near the edge, or crane your neck to look for it. Balance is critical.

View from above Anini Cove, Saturday 4/24/20

The trail flattens out toward the bottom. Normally it's wet and muddy here, easy to slip. The standing water also attracts tiny, low-flying mosquitoes. We don't see or hear the skeeters. Their presence is confirmed when our ankles begin to itch.

Today's breeze has blown out the annoying skeets.

You want quick passage yet every step is precarious. Dangling tree limbs serve as grab handles.

One more curve and the path opens to the beach, today strewn with driftwood and pieces of coral, even tree stumps that have washed down during earlier run-offs. There must be hundreds of similar spill-outs around the small island.

We find a shady spot on the beach and watch distant waves rise on the horizon like sea monsters throwing tons of water toward shore. The reef keeps those breakers at bay.

Soon we are lying on our backs on the soft carpet of sand. Listening to the steady roar, I drift into sleep inhaling the waft of sea mixture, lose track of time and place and ten-thousand other things.

I wake up and wonder how long I was gone. Barbara lies quietly next to me.

I look forward to the challenge of climbing up the steep trail. Balance is not a problem. But it will take my breath away.