The Aging Year

Writing & Poems by Kamalama Mick

As Autumn begins to fade and winter bears nearer, signs of the aging year appear throughout the shoreline. Winter in Hawai‘i, and especially in Kaupō, is marked by the angle of the sun, the greening of foliage, the reappearance of seasonal insects and birds, the frequent presence of rainfall, and the consistent and soothing sound of the river—sometimes a bubble, sometimes a roar.

There is rarely a time in winter when the river is dry for a long period, except in the occasional drought. The heavy rainfall sends pools overflowing, waterfalls gushing, and rivers spilling out into the sea, where their clear, cold waters mix with the churning white and blue of the waves.

Just yesterday the river was swollen and muddy, scoring deep grooves along its banks and sending one of the many bank-side Christmasberry trees into the riverbed, roots dug from the soil. Despite being completely sideways, it still grows lush and green. The river eddies past it, over the stones and out to sea, to where it has carved a deep gully through the berm.

The heavy rainfall sends pools overflowing, waterfalls gushing, and rivers spilling out into the sea, where their clear, cold waters mix with the churning white and blue of the waves.

When the river is flowing, there is seldom a day where we do not manage to visit it at least for a little while, and sometimes for much longer than we ought to. Which is why this morning found my father and me surveying the receded waters beneath a gray-painted sky. Ripples crisscrossed the calm surface of the pool, the light foot of the winds rushing it into chaotic disturbance. The banks were wrapped in a blanket of grainy mud and coated leaves, with the occasional liliko‘i nestled in the silty debris. I picked my way across scattered driftwood and over half-buried rocks towards where the river flowed out into the ocean.

As we stood on top of a high-cut bank, gazing down at the water that rushed past, the sun emerged from one of the thick horizon squalls and turned the water to a thousand twinkling diamonds of light. Transformed to moving glass, the river bubbled on, its voice making a wordless song through the crystallized sunshine.

Despite the mud in the river, the water itself was surprisingly clear, and the gray-hued river stones beneath the surface looked somehow close yet far away at the same moment. The strengthening wind caught a burst of spray and flung it upwards. On the mountain, the sun brushed the hills, turning them golden with its footprint.

As cloud shadows made fascinating patterns on the hills, a squall marched past on the distant horizon. Columns of rain in a dozen shades of gray poured from the heavy base of its cloud, their dark silhouettes against the light forming a brilliant picture of beauty. A ray of sun passed through the cloud, brightening a single rain column.

Another squall was passing mauka, and the sun painted a rainbow with millions of droplets. One rainbow, and then the double—a darker echo upon the rain.

A gentle wave rushed up the shore. Hints of blue sky appeared in the south. Scattered raindrops, the edge of the squall, darkened the stones and left tiny pieces of sunlight in my hair. I could taste salt on my lips, from the spray which forever comes from the sea.

As we stood on top of a high-cut bank, gazing down at the water that rushed past, the sun emerged from one of the thick horizon squalls and turned the water to a thousand twinkling diamonds of light.

Tonight it is very still, the day’s wind having dropped to not even a whisper. All is silent but for the consistent chorus of crickets in the grass and the hollow clap of waves on the shoreline. The grass glitters as you walk, tiny gleams of dew appearing unexpectedly like little fallen stars.

Clouds temper the tapestry of the sky, hanging still in the momentary absence of wind. But the visible stars twinkle with bits of silver, flickering like colorful candles and revealing the high winds above the clouds.

Orion rises above the tips of the hau, where bare twigs from summer still rise above the lush leaves, stark against the sky. Somewhere, an owl screeches.

And slowly but surely, step by step, winter creeps nearer through the unfolding of the seasons.

River water

River water

darkening my paper

beauty and smoothness

bringing out texture

yellowing my writing

blurring the letters

a poem about the very thing

that it is soaked in

mixed with salt

a memory

of a day that will never

come again

River

Like glass you flow out to the sea

Meeting the ocean, together free

Bending across the rain-spattered sand

Transposed against the rocky land

With my eyes upon you I can just be

Tendrils of water around the rocks

Secrets of nature again unlocked

Tear the grass out from the mud

Undercut the cliffs with your mighty flood—

Moving forever without thought

Lost in the place where you are found

Sacred waters across the ground

You follow yourself, the only one

Transformed to glass beneath the sun

I am filled with peace from your gentle sound

Flowing down from many miles

River, you make my heart smile

You don’t try—you simply do

Oh, if we all could be like you

In your waters I learn how to be a child

Sunset

Golden in winter’s cold

Pale cream in spring and bold

In summer bright with flaring pink

Through the clouds the sunlight sinks

And orange, colors reaching higher

In autumn it sets the sky on fire

Like colors tuned to soft refrains

Of music: silent, joyous strains

Open your mind and heart and soul

To sunset colors, and be peaceful