Musings: Prayer of Gratitude

Walked down the dark street this morning, beneath a canopy of stars, past the orange glow of a neighbor’s inflatable pilgrim-turkey, and along the trail, to the place where I could look out over the pasture and see the ocean, and the notch in the mountains beneath the Sleeping Giant’s chin.

With Venus reigning over a soft blue sky, I watched the horizon turn gold as the first rays of day sent up shafts of pink that stained the clouds, traveling south, and fast, and listened to the birds awaken, singing, the way I like to do, although mine is the silent kind of the soul.

And then in an instant all the color vanished, the sky washed pale, the clouds gone gray, waiting for the sun, which rose, as I retraced my steps home, in a burst of orange near the Giant’s feet, and Wailaleale was clear, save for a rosy halo.

My neighbor Andy pronounced it an exquisite morning, and I could only agree.

Yesterday afternoon I went to my favorite beach, where a stiff north wind riled up a sea that was already roaring with the force of its own swell, and took a cautious dip in the foamy shallows near the shoreline. I wanted to linger in the ocean's salty froth, but it was too rough, and I am always cautious in that place, where the water is swept, fast and furious, toward a narrow channel in the reef.

Returning to the parking lot, I encountered a couple, visiting from Honolulu, and the man recognized the carved-bone pendant I wear around my neck — a gift from a friend — as one of his own creations.

Life is so fascinating, full of chance encounters, unexpected events, like a friend who called last night, enroute to the Midwest, with news that her dear friend had taken his own life in Oakland.

We never know what lies around each corner, when joy and abundance will be given, or taken. All we can do is love, and appreciate each moment. And remember, always, the prayer of gratitude.

Mahalo ke Akua.

Sending love to S., grieving in Cleveland.