Saturday night

Adan Eads in 2008

Eric is grieving.

Adan, his brother friend Adan Eads, passed three days ago. I only met Adan briefly, on a couple of occasions. The first time we met, he dropped everything he was doing and drove three hours around Big Island to rescue us from under a tree at Kona airport.

My first and so far only time in Hawaii.

Could not have had a better welcome.

From the drive, I remember Adan’s smile, and the excited flow of words rumbling past me, huddled on the back seat of his classy looking piece of junk of a car. A desolate landscape of lava and white pebbles spelling out names and hearts, going up towards the volcano, to a land of cows and big houses. Eric had called a friend living much closer than Adan did, in the same street as the house we were going to, in Kamuela. The friend did not want to drive anywhere on a Sunday. Just as well. I got to meet Adan.

In Kamuela, Adan and Eric spent the night talking, while I hid in Eric’s bed, feeling lost. (that’s another story)

They were, they are, very close, yes. When they talked, their hearts and minds swirled and danced, a vortex of thought into matter, theology, mathematics. Maths. Adan wanted Eric to understand, even to learn, his work. Almost desperately.

Eric is sad. Adan’s work is in boxes on Big Island and Adan is gone.

The timing if this is interesting.

In the few days before my birthday, which is this Monday, I tend to be all over the place, happy, depressed, angry, grounded, paranoid, you name it.
I could not bear being inside. Emotions too big to be contained within four walls. Only feeling connected to the Earth helps. Time for a sleep out in the garden.

Something I ought to do more often, I would be a nicer person for it.

The moon is quite full, sounds of the night vibrate within.
I hear the odd frog at the back, oh so dry already, there should be cacophonies of frogs and toads this time of year.

Car rumbles climb the cold air, on the main road, a creek away from here.

A couple of dogs talk loudly to each other.

Birds chirp to the right, intent on celebrating dawn, still a night away.

My comfy set up by the fire. Moon overhead. Yummy. The paraphernalia beside my pillow is an essential part of the set up. See morning scene below.

And I, lying down by the fire.

The folding rustle of flames, the crepitus of moisture escaping wood.

Dogs again.

Noisy buggers.

Ah, and here come a couple of ducks Kwak Kwak overhead, and a bat beep-beeps its way along the overflow, right behind me.

I am sending love out into the world, into the house, to my darling.

And giving myself what feels right.

A night out.

Peace is where you find it.

The morning paraphernalia.