Summer. I sit in the backyard of my grandma's house in Kuliouou Valley with my four year old german-shepard pup, Kalia, and need nothing. I am barefoot, cross-legged, still. The grass is humble, a collective aura of tiny dreamers, faceless but I feel them smiling. Stillness has a heartbeat. The sky is reflected against the glass of the windows on the second floor and branches dance, keeping time with the tradewinds filling the valley with an audible but incomprehensible whisper, all I takeaway from the rushing is that I am home. 

Summer. Sitting in the passenger seat in a dear friend's SUV, the salt corrosion on the front bumper is only a testimony to the fact that love kills slowly, exposing even metal to impermanence. Nature always takes itself back. My toes hang out of the window, hair streaming behind me trying to define freedom in miles per hour. Moments. Subtle moments. The skyline is what it should be, just sky and ocean. Looking out towards the horizon perspective manifests itself; I am small, yes, but I am here, we are all here. The horizon is perspective. We are all horizons. This coastline drive, being able to breathe into the knowledge that I can't see beyond what's in front of my eyes is soothing. Even if the world was flat and this was all I would ever know, I think I would be okay with that. 

Summer. Maybe these mountains are crumbling, shedding their skins, I find myself wondering if they're trying to forget. How do we begin to measure the lifetime of a mountain? Driving, again I find myself sitting in the passenger's seat staring up at the majesty of these un-crowned, slumbering giants, wishing I knew where to begin to understand their dialect. The memory of these mountains does not remain chained to a portion of any type of brain structure, the memory of these mountains is yielding,  mountains are mother Earth's memory. The tectonic plates shifts, the Earth sighs, and the mountain remembers. I am lost on the path of every trail I haven't traversed. I am found in every raindrop that knows it is too a waterfall as it lands on the summit. 

Summer. It's sunset and I realize that this must be why we value gold so much, because of sunset. The colors of the fate that has risen sets everyday, dimming the light to reveal the brilliance of our favorite star, the sun. I am floating on the waters of Yokohama Bay at sunset, and again I am infinite. I know that the ocean will always care for those who are willing to hold their breaths in the face of everyday miracles. I am connected here. We have souls because they're actually puzzle pieces, we are constantly made aware of ourselves here, here at home. The sound of my bangles rotating rhythmically with the tide is heard underwater and the only way to describe it is: shining. Lifting my head to become parallel again with the surface I stare into the sun, I stare into it so it knows that I know, that I am never without its light.