The Cock’s Spur Coral is cultivated here, i.e. non-native, decidious and thorny, an Argentine/Brazilian relative of our endemic wiliwili, and I’ve heard it called the “cry baby coral tree.” However this past weekend it only brought me joy, helping me forget other sadness.
When you step back and take a panoramic view of the landscape, my Big Island home will sadden me greatly now, for we are in extreme drought conditions, the worse I have seen in the twenty years we have lived here. It is dry, dusty, and our viewplane is one of ugly barren browns, not rich ore-laden ones. The once-verdant green of the mountain slopes and pasturelands has largely disappeared, and we are sadly reminded that in Hawai‘i of old these were called the drylands. If you’re lucky, you’ll see a few green strips roadside, where weeds take advantage of the morning dew runoff which has collected at the asphalt edges (also bringing all the feral goats out of the bush, so those green sprouts do not last too long: They are very necessary food tenders).
So with the prospects of rain lessening even more in the coming months of our summer, this will be a time I step forward instead, taking more close up shots when I have camera in hand.
Or I look up, for in landscaped gardens and commercial centers, summer is the best time to see the flowering trees, like this brilliantly colored coral triumph, one of a pair at Parker Square, up in Waimea, Kamuela. I had driven by to check out the magnolia trees across the street since running errands fairly close by, but this tree and its pleasing reddish lawn litter ended up catching most of my attention.
Looking down at my feet was pretty wonderful too. Nature can give us the best carpets.
Could you have kept your slippers on your feet, and resist the temptation to walk barefoot through it? Not me…
Taken altogether, these remind me of our Managing with Aloha value of Mahalo. To live within this value, we are thankful for the elements of life which make that life, our life, most precious.
So in my own dry, and seemingly barren summer vista, these photos, taken only two rain-less days ago, remind me to Hō‘imi; to seek out what is still pleasing to me, noticing highlights and not low ones. I see the color of joy wherever I look for it. I appreciate intricacy, and see things I may have too quickly passed by before.
What can you see today with fresh eyes, and with Mahalo?
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Footnote: Mondays are devoted to Managing with Aloha here on Talking Story.