Hamoa Bay, Hana, Maui

We headed for Hamoa Bay this morning, following the cattle path through the pastures.

Careful of the meadow muffins, we meandered along the flanks of Haleakala, often pausing on the grassy slopes to gaze down to the sea – the town of Hana nestling around Kauiki Head, the promontory of rock said to have been Queen Kaahumanu’s birthplace.  It was a lush, green view, the forests of hau and hibiscus, the palms tall and straight and gently waving, the Cooke pines steepling the sky.  All was green and more green, from light to dark, down to the blue sea that stretched as far as the eye could see to a distant horizon curving the edge of our world as we turn so slowly.

The path led us through an arbor of shade, along a recently repaired bridge, and over a dry riverbed, too dry, they say here.  In November, the gully was a torrent of water running to the sea, but today there was nothing.

Finally, we turned down toward the cove called Hamoa Bay, following the paved road through a seaside neighborhood, to steep stairs descending to the beach.  Waves crashed on the black sand, and surfers rode the glassy surface, racing the foam to the shallows.  A few folks stretched out on lounge chairs, others unpacked picnics on blankets.  We listened to the roar of the sea meeting the land, caressing it, retreating again, meeting, caressing, retreating…

I watched the water and the land dance to the rhythm of the tides, and recalled the line from the Psalm, “The sea is his and he made it, and his hands prepared the dry land….”  Here in this dramatic, poetic world, one is full of the mystery of creation, the mystery of the greatest dance of all.

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