My feet were always bare upon your surface. Here, I was born again in some magical way, just how warm light under dew remains a marvel. I tranformed. You transformed me. I stepped foot on your path, stretched my back against your sands. When the island sings, our voices are in the vibration of the dirt, in the dust I am.
Stars glow pure and clear enough to brighten my heart, now I shine, floating over footprints, over the blue in winds lifting my heels further into a lost paradise, further in the woods, higher on the hills, deeper in the caves. I’m listening.
There is a call down at the base of the volcano, where lies the mouth of the sea, every step draws me down. I am wrapped in weaved fibers from gathered foliage. Leafage sustains life, perserves food, makes shelter, brooms, bedding, walls and warmth. It harnesses water.
Under waterfalls to bathe and resting in long grasses guarded off the chill. Majestic Magnolias lined the beaches, trunks big enough for beds. Months would pass now on the island’s edge, walking the sea, tides under my feet on the cusp of the world. The beginings.
In low branches, I sleep safely in the sunset, in the sunrise, waking at the first white hue to collect baskets of shells and petals. Waves coo lullabies at dawn, I lay close to the water and observe nothing more sincere than the beginning of a new day.
Emergence moves onward, I go the narrow road, over the fair beaches and visits to the pavilions, a slow stroll through the towns for trade and supplies, and then back up to the end of the road.
Nightfall, I was back at the Kalalau Trail, back into the Na Pali wilderness, up to my island nest, back up to my cocooned hammock on the top of the sky, where I can sink back down into the island’s chest.
Kate Lunsford 
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