I have made an evening habit of this beach walk in the days since, although D hasn't since gotten off work in time to join me, wearily citing all sorts of cinematic anxieties about losing the light. Each day I walk a bit farther, till the stroll to the end and back talks me about an hour and a half.
It was the day after our dinner that I saw these dragon boats, with a toddler peering at their keels and a man fast asleep in the hull of the one on the left. I was particularly charmed, somehow, by the way the dragons peeked out over the parking barriers, as if exhausted and in need of a bit of a chin rest.
I have settled into a contented pattern here, one that looks something like this:
Sometime between 5:00 and 6:00 a.m., D gets up and goes to work. Somewhat, um, after that, I get up. I read, I blog, I sit on the balcony looking out at the ocean. I clean, deal with email, work, snack on fresh pineapple.
At some point, I gird my skin with a veritable armor of sunscreen, and venture forth. I pick up a fallen blossom from one of the trees in the hotel garden and tuck it behind my ear. I wander around the lagoon to the ocean proper, kick off my sandals, and wade into the surf. Then I walk, past delighted toddlers on their first visit to the ocean, experienced surfers with the world's most flawless human forms, and (on one occasion) a couple of women posing sexily in front of the sunset ("Don't worry - it's for our husbands!" they cried when I paused to let them take the photo. I guffawed. Well, that's all right, then.).
I walk and walk over the wide variety of textures the sand takes on along Waikiki beach (is this a trick of the tides, or does each hotel haul a different quality of sand in to supplement their own patch of waterfront?). The waves crash up around me - by the time I go back to the room to meet D when he gets back at 8 or 9 my dress will be drenched up to the waist - and I gather soaking folds of fabric up in my hands as I wend my way. The whole world seems saturated in color as the sun sets, and the landscape changes drastically from minute to minute.
The result, I fear (I hope?) is that my O'ahu Diaries from this point forward will become decreasingly narrative and increasingly pictorial, a series of color studies in cloud and surf. Be forewarned.