It was a beautiful day on the island. the winds were blowing softly westward, a sign of good, steady tropical weather. The tourists bustled about, angry that they had oversplet the sun, eager to begin their day. The merchants were putting out their goods in the market and setting up their stalls. Fresh pineapple and plumeria invaded the senses. The sun was warm to the touch and shining just right, set high above the red-brown foliage covered mountain sides. Someone was playing a ukelele on the corner with a straw basket out for collections. The smile on the Hilo Hattie tour guide shone out over the large ruffles of her well pressed muumuu.

As I walked along, I could tell I was nearing the ocean. The crowds rushed into a Denny's on the corner and I strolled right past, the only sustainace I sought was straight ahead, past a japanese resturaunt, down a tiny alley way, and ten paces west. Unfamiliar tourists don't know that the ocean on that side of the world is perfect all the time, most suspect it is too early for any enjoyment to be had out of the west city side of the island; I am as good as a native, I know her waters will never disapoint. I disapear into the alley and emerge in paradise. The concrete walls part to reveal a perfect rolling turquoise ocean and the most picture perfect view of Diamond Head, short of a 50 mile hike or helicopter. Something glitters on the farthest tip- A diamond? A precious jewel? Silly settlers of old, the mountain is the glittering. The Island is the diamond, strong, beautiful,perfect, immutable.

I walk over a bridge built up against the water. Again, two well-dressed tourists hurry past, dodging the crashing waves that send mini tidal waves over the side of the pedestrian crossing. I know that the water is warm and sweet, I almost ran to meet a wave and then, remembering the pledge I made to myself, I kept a steady pace. Steady like the breeze, steady like the ocean. I made it off of the 30 foot bridge and struck golden sand with the picks of my feet. More diamonds.

I walked slowly to the water, shoes in hand. Slowly, the Hawaiian sun never burns the sand. I dipped in and out of the water, continuing my eastward journey to the moutain. The huge, immovable, immutable, steady mountain. i walked and walked slowly for hours. the sun never set, the tourists never changed, and the mountain never came closer. i reached, and plodded and stretched my endurance to the point of exhaustion and still-- nothing. No change in the island, only a change in me. Only fear, despiration, perspiration, perserverance. I must continue. i must reach the--

And then I woke up. A strong wind blew at my door and with it, took all my drems of the island glamour. The sun hung out of my window, as weary as I, looking out over flat, cold, clouded lands. A light fog lifted as the day went on and a cold frost crept cautiously covering everything with cat like stealth. The air smelled of snow and hung like rain. The tourists changed into bussiness men-- suits, Buicks, and deadlines in tote, they rushed to miss the crashing of the rain. I now better though. No need to rush anywhere, it will all be the same unless it's Paradise.