The steady drizzle of a Hawaiian tradewinds pattern here
on the windward side of this island brings to mind
the shrieking gusts of the high desert in New Mexico—
harsh winds that strip away any moisture that might linger
on the surface of things.
I’m not sure what drew me there twice,
away from our subtropical home.
Perhaps it was to experience its opposite.
Is this what it takes to understand what lies
at the fulcrum of the scales?
In one brass dish rests the rich, abundant,
fecund landscape born of volcanic soil.
In the other, the high, rugged mountains
that have endured countless harsh seasonal turns
and relentless blazing suns.
The deeply stark blue sky,
where clouds may gather only to vanish again—
releasing much-needed moisture or unraveling
into cirrus wisps like cotton glued to a child’s
kindergarten composition.
What feeds one of us is different
from what nourishes another.
For some, it is the pursuit of travel
to places we have never experienced
in a tactile sense.
Others seem content simply to abide,
tend the land, and enjoy the fruits
of that labor as the sun spreads
out in technicolor hues before dropping
low into an endless horizon.
It wasn’t always like this for me.
My spirit was more restless, and a change
in scenery seemed somehow crucial to sanity.
But I am done striking out to quell some
unquenchable desire to witness all of this blue planet.
My yearning has shifted into the opposite gear—
low and slow and purposeful—
paying greater attention to the minutiae:
the seeds, the roots, the mycelia
that feed greater networks.
All is calm in the darkness and richness
of that underland.
It feels like the embrace of a deep-bellied goddess,
where I am stilled and held and utterly sustained..