Note fromTe Gaterng Place

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For AndyOn the occasion of his

21st birthdayIn honor of one of his favorite

places on Earth

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Chapter One

The green was almost electric that morning. Flooding the sculpted mountains with color. Reflecting the rise of the morning sun, gold and orange. Just having sailed over from Japan. That green couldn't be matched anywhere else on earth. The greens of the mountains, the golds of the sun, and the sea. The crested glass of blues and grays. Folding over and over one another until the swash against the white sand. The open ocean. Nothing could compare with the cold-warm wind from the open ocean. It blasted in from the blue horizon unexpectedly. And it ruffled the green of the mountains in waves, just as if they, too, were made of water. Everything quiet. Except for the crash of the water. And the wind.

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And that's what Andy loved about it. Those early morning bike rides around the island. Everything worked in harmony together:

The ocean. The mountains. Wind. Colors. Sounds.

The perfected glory of Hawai'i.

Andy started his mornings the same. Almost every morning.

Coffee and Bible. Breakfast. Often granola cereal and banana, toasted bagel with cream cheese, and orange juice. And all on the deck.

The deck overlooking the green valley where the sun glazed a shine of gold over the mountains every morning. And sometimes the gray mists would roll in from the ocean. Grays. Blues. Sometimes a smoky white.

Then, the bike.

Andy loved that bike. When he had come over several years ago, he brought his favorite. He could afford to leave the other two behind. But he had to have this one. Everything about that bike was just as it should be. Even the accents.

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And the color. Red. With black and silver. It was Andy's pride. And every morning, whether the sun came in, or the rain came in, Andy would take it around the island.

Just like that morning. And that morning, the sun was up. It was the kind of morning that came almost every morning. And yet Andy had never become accustomed to them. Each one was as if it was new and unexperienced.

His route took him from his little home halfway up the side of the mountain, down the mountain, around the inlet, back through the mountains, to his favorite lookout, and then a coast down the same mountain back home. It was what Andy might have considered the 'perfect run'.

These were times when Andy could be alone with his thoughts. Remember folks back home. Think about the past. The future. Dream up new ideas for new sketches. Take pure joy in the ride. And the creation.

The first stretch of the ride was one of the simplest parts of the run. Winding back and forth down the slope of the green mountain. And while Andy kept his head down to the path, he was still aware of the scope of the ocean. On that certain morning, frothy white at the crests. Out on the horizon the water was almost blue enough to match the sky. But more gray than blue. No ships out today, no boats. This coastline was usually uncut by anything but the sea birds and the sometimes-sighted whales.

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But even that was an uncommon occurrence. This shoreline was quiet and serene. Just how Andy preferred it. The road was easy for this part though. Folding from side to side down the mountain, sloping, nothing like a sharp switch-back, but gently descending from the original summit, several hundred feet above his home. Andy could get down the mountain much faster than he was taking it that morning. But some days were more for enjoyment of the mountain. The air, which always smelled of blossoms from the north shore. Mornings like these, when the air was especially fresh, Andy didn't worry about his times. He could do the whole circuit in 45 minutes. But he wasn't in a rush today. Today, he could take his time.

Down to the ocean bend, the inlet. From there, Andy hit the brakes. And stopped. Just for a few moments. He usually sailed past this part of the road, onto the mountain rise. But this morning was particularly clear. Pristine. If that was a good word for it. Andy gulped down some water, even though it wasn't quite yet entirely necessary. The exertion of the run wouldn't really begin for another number of miles once he left the coastline. Here, by the shore, the asphalt had just been recoated. The fresh tar was already beginning too warm, and the smell of it always reminded Andy of summers at home. Races around town. Forty miles at a time. Or more. Before, the road had begun to chunk up here and there, thought to be due to the occasional volcanic activity. And the feel of a new road was already easier on the bones.

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He didn't stay there long. Just enough time to look out to the ocean and take a deep breath of rich sea air. There really was something rich about it. So many things to take in -- The creatures of the deep. Blossoms from the mountains. Rain from some distant horizon. The mix of the water itself, blended with waters from other seas, other oceans. From so many places. So many times.

But Andy didn't have further time to contemplate what might be in the wind that morning. He was soon off around the inlet, parallel with the white sand of the beaches on his left, the new asphalt running just between the beach and the green valley. There were only a few houses in that valley. Like tiny gems in the folds of green velvet. Some were red. Others were yellow. A few were blue. And they almost sparkled, they were so bright. But there were just a small number of them. It really was an isolated part of the north shore.

Wrapping his way around the coastline, Andy continued to breathe in the air, head down in the wind. He didn't need his Oakleys yet. Not just yet, with the sun still at his back. Japan behind him. Alaska forward. He didn't want to take away from the blues and the greens in front of him by shading them out with the glasses. There would be plenty of need for them later in the day. The wind rippled past him, chilling the frame of the bike and cooling his hands though his bike gloves.

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It was a good feeling to have that wind coming from both directions: One cool wind coming at him from the speed of his bike. And another warm wind at his back from the mountains.

The sand sparkled that morning. Sometimes the sun hit it just right, sending dazzling white light, like sun reflected on snow, into the left of his vision. Today was no exception. The glitter was spectacular. Andy slipped on his Oakleys as a result.

The road continued to slope in a gradual crescent around the inlet. It occasionally marbled with the slithering tracks of wind-blown sand. But other than that, it was a quiet path. Only a very few vehicles had passed him since he started his run. And he was about to come to one of his favorite spots on the track.

Eucalyptus deglupta.

A pretty fantastic sort of tree. They grew in a particularly large grove just on the other side of the inlet. The bark was smoothed and, almost as if painted, displayed numerous stripes of different colors. Many of the younger trees were covered in pinks and oranges and bright greens, light purples. And the older ones were dark reds, blues, purples, and oranges, light yellows. Phenomenal trees. And so many of them together. Every time Andy passed the grove, it made him almost believe, just for a few moments, that he was in another world. Another sort of planet. Where unusual colors were in places one never thought they could be.

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Andy flew through the grove, taking in the beauty of the colorful woods. And then on toward mountain country.

They came up suddenly. Sharp. Steep. Incalculably steep. But they had been softened by thousands of years of green growth. Forests. Heavy green vines. The tropical green and forestry that only Hawai'i could truly boast. And sometimes he could make out the bright colors of the birds and the flowers nested inside.

Here was where the run became interesting.

Andy shifted gears as he hit the first stage of the incline. He always prepared his mind to expect a steeper rise than it actually was. But it didn't lessen the sense of accomplishment. More so as he continued to peel back the time of his run, bit by bit, over the last two years. But that morning, Andy wasn't focused on time. There were times just to enjoy creation, completely, and think about times later.

As the path poured into the greenery, Andy could feel the integrity of the road becoming less refined. It became more and more calloused. Potholes to avoid. Rifts. Ridges. Places where the vines had drilled into the pavement over time. But Andy didn't mind it much. The character of the road was almost companionable. He had begun to memorize the ridges and the cracks. The placement of potholes.

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And even quite a number of the sizable plants near the road. Some almost seemed to be friendly. If a plant could be friendly. There were a few times that Andy had sketched these plants. Just a few of them. Because there was something almost of a personality about them. The blossoms might look like tiny faces. The way it sat might remind him of a pudgy little man. Or strange space creatures. His job as an illustrator would often become all the more easy on days when he sketched those plants into cartoons.

Andy pushed on through the foliage canopy. Off came the Oakleys once again as the dark green of the shadows cooled his eyes. The sun was green here. The leaves and branches were so heavy with green, that the sunlight had altered its hue. Pouring through every edifice. Millions of shining gems: emeralds and yellow topaz. Singing light into the tropical flora curling around him. And whispering in the mountain winds. Sometimes the flash of red wings, or yellow, or green, would fly through the trees. Sometimes he only heard the birds' songs to one another, without seeing them. Or sometimes they sat quietly in the branches above him, watching his shiny bike wind through the jungle.

This continued for a few miles. The shine of the jungle glory hauntingly beautiful. And still, he was alone. No other travelers on this remote road. Just himself. And the grip of his bike's tires on the crumble of the asphalt.

Then, as always, out of nowhere... He had reached the top.

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His bike came to a quick stop then. Just on that ridge.

Spectacular.

To his back was the inlet. So far away now, the little glinting white beach snaking around the ocean's breadth. To his face was the valley of numerous green mountains, extending toward the next horizon. To his left, the island, carrying off into the east, toward more mountains, more jungle, more of civilization. To his right, the rising sun, melting away the gray-blue mists of the lavish valley below him.

Andy propped up his bike against the usual stone wall, just there at the bend of the road that took the traveler back down the other side. Cold water. He always carried it with him. Chilled from the ride. Some of it spilled down his face in the whisked winds of the mountain's peak. But the gold crease of the sun just over the ridge, kept him from being cold. Even in the blasting winds. He could feel the tingling pain in his ears from those winds. It was almost the good sort of pain that told him he had biked a good run. Like the burning of newly exercised muscles. He stood there for several minutes, taking it all in. The light. The colors of the land and sea. The silence. Except for the wind. He always felt as though he must be standing at the very top of the world when he stood on that mountain.

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Far off across the island, he could see the ocean again, on the south part of the island. Just a glint of it. He breathed in deep of that rushing ocean wind. And then he put his water bottle back on his bike. There would be time on another morning, maybe Saturday, to linger and watch the view. But for now, he had to get back home and get ready for work.

With a spin of the handles, Andy was back on the path. The long, sloping path that lead from one side of the mountain down to the other, where home was. Back into the warmed air of the sun. Back home to start another day.

And that was the way Andy began each morning in paradise.

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Chapter Two

Work for Andy was a number of miles in the opposite direction of that white inlet. He had maybe the best job in the world. Maybe it wasn't the most unique. Or the most adventurous. But it was still, what he would consider, the best.

After he had graduated from college, Andy had taken his first offer. He had been hired on the spot when they saw his portfolio. “Come to Hawai'i,” they said. “We could use talent like yours out there.” And so he did. “I might be out there for a couple of years,” he had said to his family. “But I'll move back sometime, probably. And I'll visit whenever I can. I'll miss you all.” Twice a year he came back. Once in the summer. And once for Christmas.

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It had all worked out pretty well. And here he was, in Hawai'i, working as an illustrator for a publishing company. His position wasn't prestigious. But he enjoyed it. It was in the city, but it overlooked the little harbor, a smaller inlet than the one he biked every morning. It was a large enough part of the city to have actual traffic. People and bikes on the streets. And his own place of work was in a building made of mostly glass, and twelve stories high, just on the corner of the busiest intersection. It was the sort of job that Andy could come to work in shorts and sandals. Except on the days when clients were expected. Which was once or twice a week. Andy had, what he called, 'an amazing desk', just in the corner of the tenth story. The desk was solid wood. Stained a dark, almost chocolate color. It had all the right drawers in all the right places. A place just right for his computer. And for the writing and drawing. All the slots necessary for drawing pencils, charcoals, and other writing utensils. The whole of the tenth story floor was reserved for the illustrators. Open. Spacious. Just about a dozen illustrators. And they each had their own kind of desk set just the way they wanted it. Andy had picked the spot where the window connected at the corner. All the walls were a continuous panel of glass. But Andy liked the way the windows locked together, looking over the southeast, the direction of home. The whole room was filled with sunlight from the windows. Green plants had been set in pots around the floor. And at night, or when the rain came in, the lights of the city: yellow

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and red, and green, sparkled through the glass. And the coffee. Maybe the best coffee machine Andy had ever seen. That was on the first level. So Andy would get a second cup of coffee on the way up to his desk every morning. He would fix it just the way he liked it, and then hit the elevator. He had learned early on while working there, not to take the coffee with him, walking up ten flights of stairs. So he took the stairs after lunch.

It was a bright day. The sun had brought with it only a few clouds, spotting here and there, mostly off in the open ocean, not yet arrived. When the bell of the elevator dinged, and the doors opened, Andy marched through to the desk, greeted by the other illustrators, who were also just arrived, or still arriving. Portfolio in one hand. Coffee in the other. And then he got to work.

It wasn't so much like work though, really.

Andy looked over his line-up of pencils. Everything in perfect order. In the right colors: Reds. Browns. Oranges. Yellows. Greens. Blues. Purples. Pinks. And there were the colored charcoals. The pens. The brush-tipped markers. And the pigments.

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Sometimes, Andy would sit down at nine o'clock, begin a sketch, look up at the clock, and it would read:

12:30.

Lunch time. It would pass that quickly. Andy had so many ideas. That was one reason why he had been hired so quickly. There would always be something new to draw. A different point of view. A unique twist on an old concept. Sometimes he would draw the strange, the bizarre. Or the fantastical. Or the simple. Sometimes he drew things exactly as they were, just as they were seen by the naked eye. Today was one of those days. And it was a good thing, too. He was in the middle of a set of sketches for a children's book. And he needed to paint a good sunset for one of the pages. He had plenty of inspiration. Hawai'i could boast some of the best sunsets in the world, in his opinion. He had a few days before the last of sketches were due. And today could be more at his leisure as a result. More time for inspiration. Andy took a swig of his coffee. A special hazelnut blend. With a little cream. That was good stuff. Andy looked at the little plaque tacked on his desk among the various sketches and sticky notes:

“Life is Good.”

It was kind of one of Andy's mottos. He had always agreed with that statement.

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Andy opened his portfolio and took out the latest little sketch. Sometimes at nights, when the evening was warm, late, and the windows were open to the sounds of the ocean and the winds... Then he would take out his little sketch book and draw wild things of his imagination. This was one of his more fantastical ideas. Something he thought of back in his early college years:

Expansive cliffs over a great valley. A house, once attached to the floor of the highest cliff, being carried off by a great hot air balloon. Scraps of dirt and roots and bits of brick flying away underneath the foundation. All black pen. Everything was detailed. Andy was known for his level of detail.

He tacked the little sketch next to the “Life is Good” sign. Another swig of coffee. Now really down to business.

Andy adjusted his chair; just a little higher than from yesterday. Picked up a red pencil. Scratched at his chin. Spun the pencil between his fingers. Smoothed the page of crisp white paper laid out on his drawing board.

And then he started to draw.

The usual hum of conversation between illustrators, the hushed buzz of traffic below, smells of coffee and paint from the other drawing tables, the wood stain of his desk... Minutes ticked by in this way. While Andy's coffee slowly diminished. And the sun took a different slant in the blue Hawai'ian sky.

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The next time he looked at the clock, it read:

12:21.

Andy sat back to look at his work. His sunset was about half-way up the page. The shading had to be just right, really. It had to look as though it were glowing. He thought he might have the first part right, but he couldn't be certain until the whole sky was finished. The black silhouette of the cliffs beneath the sky was good. He wouldn't need to readjust that. Yesterday he had scrapped a whole day's work because the sky had ended up shading from the red to the orange to the yellow, and then the green. No room for the blue or the purple. Or the black with the stars. Andy hadn't been happy with the shading either. So it was set in his stack of 'unwanteds', his scrap pile to use for other assignments in the future. Further inspiration. He had spent the last week at the top ridge of the mountain above his home. Watching every sunset. He had never noticed before, just how the golds blended with the orange and the red. And the subtle hint of green, mixed with a little blue, into the violet, sometimes lavender and rose of the night sky. They were even more spectacular when braided in with a colossal set of thunderheads over the open ocean. Flickering lightening. But the author of the book hadn't wanted a thunderstorm in the book. Just the sunset. And so he left the idea of the sunset thunderstorm for another day. Maybe he would be able to finish the sunset by the end of the day.

But not just now.

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Right now, it was time for lunch.

Andy took the empty coffee cup back down to the lobby floor. Most of the time, one of his work buddies would join him for lunch. Either in the lunch room with one of his self-prepared bento boxes. Or out down the street at one of the little cafes or restaurants. But on days like these, when the sun was just right, and the ocean was particularly blue, Andy took a detour for lunch. To his favorite place of all:

The fish stand.

It certainly wasn't elaborate. Nothing about it was fancy. It was just a shack on the beach. But the food was good. And it was always crowded with hungry, satisfied customers. Andy's favorite sandwich came in a grilled roll. Shark meat. A secret sauce. An assortment of appropriate vegetables.

Perfection in a sandwich.

Of course, he couldn't eat this sandwich very often. Shark meat was a delicacy in Andy's opinion. And so he visited this favorite eatery maybe once a month. Sometimes he skipped a month. Just to make the treat even more of a treat.

It was just a short walk to the fish stand. Down the street. A short-cut through the grocery store parking lot. Across a little back road. Just through a line of palms. Down to the sand. A brief jaunt down the somewhat secluded beach. And there it was:

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Andy saved change throughout the month in a glass jar, just for occasions such as these. He counted out the handful of coins to the tiny girl with the blond ponytail, who seemed to always work there. Waited a few minutes, watching the magic of the sandwich-making process from the edge of the stand. And then...

Oh the glory of that tasty sandwich!

A steak of the sea. The best the ocean could offer. And there was a side of sweet potato fries. And a Pepsi.

Nothing quite like it.

Andy took his tray of delectables to the picnic tables set up just outside the little shack, and ate away into heavenliness for the whole of his hour lunch break.

That hour ended quickly. He was almost mesmerized with the wash of the ocean over the sand. The color of toast. And warmed to a considerable heat by the time one-thirty had arrived. Andy absently wondered if he could maybe fry an egg on the sand. It was one of those things he thought to himself from time to time, but never actually tried to do. It was one of those things he would probably do the day before he left Hawai'i. Whenever that day would be. Maybe he never would leave. It was one of those things he couldn't know for sure yet.

Minutes later, Andy was back at work, jogging up the stairs, two at a time.

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Back at the desk. Several of his buddies were involved in a discussion about the movie they had all seen the night before. It had been a blockbuster. Some underlying philosophic ideas. Andy shared in a little of the conversation as he pulled out his pencils again. He was just at that tricky transition between the yellows and golds, and the place where he needed a little green. Just a little. The kind of green that grew on his mountain. The green he saw every morning from his deck. He cautiously put the pencil to the paper. And began the sketch. Lightly. Blending it into the golden orange and fire yellow. As he sketched, he thought about his plans for the weekend. He was going to join a couple of buddies from church for a weekend on a private inlet on the west shore. One of the elderly couples from church let groups from church stay at their farm from time to time. And they had plans for good times. Snorkeling. Some scuba. Hiking. Biking. It was going to be a fun weekend.

But that sunset. He really wanted to finish that sunset before the end of the day. He liked the feeling of having everything finished before the start of the weekend. No leftover assignments. Even if they weren't due for another few days.

The green wasn't looking so bad after all. Andy sat back to get a better look. Not bad at all.

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Now to add in the blues and the purples.

It had to be just right.

Andy let the movie conversation sort of drift away just then. He needed focus.

Back at home, when he was a kid, he would doodle on his bulletin during sermons on Sunday mornings. “You shouldn't be drawing pictures during the sermon,” Dad would say to him. “It helps me concentrate though,” he had said. And it was true. He remembered the words even more when he had a pen in hand. But this time, he couldn't focus on the conversation around him. Every once in awhile he had a sketch that required that much concentration. Who would have thought a sunset would need such focus? But for some reason it did.

The first shade of blue was coming along. And then to the second. Andy figured on about four shades before finally reaching the purple. Strange that there could be blue in a sunset and the sky. Maybe it was just the sky bleeding through. Andy didn't know any of the science of a sunset. He just knew that they could be breathtaking, maybe especially in Hawai'i.

His ears picked up something about the movie again, and then he almost immediately forgot it as he picked up the third blue pencil.

It was just about right. He blended in the fourth shade of blue, and sat back once again. Looked good still. He reached for the first shade of purple.

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It was a dazzler. Maybe too bright. But that, blended with a deeper shade of violet... Andy almost laughed at himself, thinking so hard about colors. He could name so many different colors, it was almost an embarrassment. Just a little more of the violet. Andy paused the pencil for a few moments, half-listening to the new conversation going on about plans for the weekend. Some of them were headed over to surf. A few of them were going to take a trip over to the currently active volcano. It was safe to say that none of the graphic designers had been in Hawai'i long enough to have seen all the sights. Especially the volcanic eruptions. Andy hadn't gotten around to seeing any of that yet either. But those were plans for another weekend.

The clock read 3:30.

Maybe another hour more of work. Time for a snack. Maybe the best snack. Something almost as good as the shark sandwich.

That was the thing about Hawai'i -- everything about it often seemed to be 'the best'.

And the snack of the hour was:

Hawai'ian shaved ice.

Andy's eyes glazed over in blissful sugary expectation just at the idea of an Hawai'ian shaved ice. Fantastic. He almost forgot to replace his drawing pencils before checking the contents of his wallet. At the suggestion, he was immediately joined by no less than four

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of the other graphic designers.

A walk in the opposite direction this time. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to have half the graphic design floor walk up together for an Hawai'ian shaved ice in the afternoons. Maybe more often on Fridays than on any other day of the week.

A few minutes later, Andy was waiting in line for the deliciousness. He didn't mind shelling over the couple of dollars a week. It was well worth it.

Cold. Sweetness.

And in the fresh air, warmed by the afternoon winds. The crash of waves from the beach. It made the Hawai'ian shaved ice taste even better.

Paradise in ice form, was soon finished, as Andy completed the last spoonful at his desk.

Now to finish that sunset.

Andy stared at the page.

Suddenly, it seemed almost finished.

In fact, it was basically done. All he had left was the black. It wasn't half bad. For a guy who was a high critic of his own work, he had to admit that it was a decently well-composed sunset.

He carefully took the black pencil from its casing. And, with steady hand, put it to the page.

More minutes passed.

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More minutes.

And then...

Done.

Andy slipped the black pencil back into the hold. He grinned. A good piece, all in all. And now, he could go home. Fix a nice dinner. Pack for the weekend. And watch the sun set.

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Chapter Tree

It was going to be a great weekend. Andy was up before the sun. No bike ride today. He would have enough biking and hiking and swimming to make up for that, all weekend. His backpack was ready to go. All he had to do was add his Bible, and he was pretty much finished. By seven, he had picked up three of the other guys. Then they met the other group in the parking lot of the little Chinese restaurant. Andy checked several times over to be sure he had the key to the farmhouse, and the garage combination, just in case.

The road was an easy one. Once the boys were fully awake, having been somewhat roused by a sack of McGriddles, one of Andy's particular favorite breakfast items, they were already singing along to random silly songs in the car.

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Andy loved nothing more than a winding road. And if not on his bike, then in the car. The twisting path, the tight turns, the centrifugal force... It made for a great combination of driving. And by the time the sun had come up, they were almost half-way to their destination.

It soon came up on the horizon -- just at the base of the last green mountain on the inlet. It was an old farm. A banana plantation. Had its peak in the 1930's. And though the farm was no longer in full operation, the bananas still grew there, and in plenty. “Help yourselves,” they'd been told. “There's always enough.”

So they did. That was one of the first things they did. Somehow there were few things better in life than pretending they were shipwrecked on a deserted island, with an entire crop of bananas at their disposal, and a fully furnished farmhouse. And plenty of overgrown hiking and biking trails.

Soon, everything had been unpacked. With seven post-college guys in one expansive farmhouse, there was call for a certain level of mess. But Andy had vowed, for all of them, that they would leave the house in a cleaner condition than when they had first arrived. Then there was the unpacking of the goods: Packaged coffee. Bagels. Granola. Oranges. Apples. Waffle mix. Sausages. Eggs. And many other things.

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Four of the seven guys had been Eagle Scouts. So this melee of groceries was followed with various gear: Flashlights. Pocketknives. Machetes (for overgrown jungle trails). Compass. Etc., and etc.

Not to mention the bikes Hiking gear Scuba gear And so on and so on.

The boys wasted little time. Almost immediately they left for a break-in hike, with just about two hours to spare before lunch.

The jungle was already warm. And the hike started out slow, almost level to the ocean. But there would be rain by the afternoon. There often was. Soon, the path started an incline. And the birds began their strange calls, with the flash of colored feathers whipping across the trees. The heady scent of flowers filled the air, already heavy with the breezes of the ocean and the heavy smells of the dark volcanic soil which made up most of the path. Soon, the path became steep enough to warrant grabbing at whatever tree trunks became available as rooted walking sticks. Hand over hand, one tree to the next. Little brush trees, the trunks spanning no more than the width of Andy's fist. The air was warming more and more as the sun made its arc across the sky. Andy paused a moment to secure his black bandana around his head. Through the tree canopy, he could see the white thunderheads spilling across the skies.

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Ten minutes later, and they had reached the clearing on the face of the mountain. They wouldn't have time to get to the summit that morning. Later, they would walk around the other side of the mountain, and up to the top.

It was a beautiful lookout, direct out to the ocean. Blue. Green. The white frothy clash of water further out, miles into the west. And the wind. He knew it would be even stronger at the top of the mountain.

Back at the farmhouse, Andy was on the first meal crew. Lunch was simple for the first one. Tomorrow would be a picnic lunch with some of the girls from church, who would come out after services. But for today, it was going to be sandwiches and potato chips from the little delicatessen in the city. And chocolate chip cookies, which, between the four men of Andy's crew, managed to mix up and bake pretty successfully.

In the afternoon, the rain came in. At around two o'clock. Just long enough to give a good soak to the jungle cover. But as soon as it came to an end, the boys loaded up the scuba and snorkel gear, and trekked down to the volcanic beach. More than ever, Andy felt like he was on an island in the center of the Pacific. Away from civilization. Away from anything but the wilds of jungle, beach, and volcano.

The beach was fresh and cleaned from the rain. The waves were almost docile. And the little cove where the diving was best, was a short walk down the ruffles of volcanic sand. “This is just awesome!” Andy found himself saying. And why not say it?

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There was something about creation at its height after a rainstorm, or an upheaval of wind, rain, and the elements, that left him feeling as though he were at the top of all the world.

It didn't take very long to suit up in his scuba gear. Andy had made sure to become certified upon arrival in Hawai'i. And he had made use of it on a regular basis. Most of the guys had brought snorkel gear. But Andy wanted to be able to use the scuba equipment at least once over the weekend. The water here was especially clear and went almost directly deep into the ocean bed where all sorts of amazing pieces of creation were waiting to be explored.

The first splash was always the best. The customization to the water. The milk-blue curls of sand around him as he jetted off into the deep. And as the sand receded...

Corals.

Beautiful tangles of corals and sea plants woven together in elaborate gardens. And then the sea life would spring around him. Tiny schools rippling around his arm. Little things nibbling at his fingers, expecting something edible, no doubt. He spread his way deeper into the abyss, folding the water away as he pushed into the deep blue. The colors of the fish were just as bright as Andy had hoped they would be before he came to Hawai'i:

Sunrise Wrasse. Fisher's Angelfish. Regal Parrotfish. Hawai'ian Ruby Cardinalfish. Orangemargin Butterflyfish.

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All the yellows. Blues. Orange and red. Even the greens. And sometimes the flash of silver. Mixed in with the corals of various colors. It was all dazzling to the eyes. The brilliance of the living seas.

Andy dug in farther through the cool water. The sun glinted in a calming way, in shining greens and yellows off the white rocks and coral formations. So perfectly quiet. And serene. Only the gurgle of his movements through the water. And of the little fish swimming in clusters around him. Almost curious at his alien appearance in their habitat. There were more sorts of fish now as he circled deeper.

Fantailed Filefish. Scarface Blenny Hawai'ian Bigeye. Psychedelic Wrasse. Potter's Angelfish. Orange Anthias.

Andy could have stayed there for hours, exploring the crevices and pockets of aquatic life in the reef. But soon, he could see the other guys signaling him from the top. Time to relinquish the oxygen tanks for the next dive.

Back in the sun, Andy handed over the apparatus and relaxed for awhile on the sand, watching the roll of the ocean, listening to the cackle of tropic birds in the jungles behind him... He followed this with another hour or so in the surf, swimming, and then out with the snorkeling gear for another hour in the quiet pools out of the way of crashing waves.

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All too soon, they realized it was time to begin dinner. Andy helped pile up the driftwood logs into a sizable fire. Some of the other guys brought back the supplies of food. And soon, they had sausages and whole apples roasting over the open fire. “This is the life,” Andy said, leaning back in the sand. The guys chuckled. Andy pretty much said that no matter what he was doing. He took a bite of the baked apple with the sweet sausage. Pretty much delicious. They talked for awhile about things. Life plans. Living in 'paradise'. Family. Philosophy. Church. Theology. A little politics. A little sports. Not too much of either of those.

And they watched the stars.

Nothing like the brilliance of crystal constellations on a pristine night. Glittering white sparks on the black globe above him. The soothing roll of ocean water, crashing and rolling, beating at the sand of the beach. The rustle of wind through the palms. The cool-warm breeze. The still.

Andy fell into bed that night, peaceful, full of good food, happily tired from much good exercise, and sun-warmed from hours of exploring creation.

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The next morning dawned with gold sun and winds down from the mountains. And read from his Bible. Then he and two of the other guys put together waffles for everyone. “Looks like we might get a big storm tonight,” one of the guys said, listening carefully to the radio. “Hope we finish the picnic before it gets here.”

Breakfast was quickly cleared. They wanted to get in a bike ride before the girls got in. And a few of the other guys who couldn't make it on Saturday.

It was a clean bike ride. The trails sludged up a good amount of mud. But no one slipped off a ledge or fell into a ravine. The air was fresh. The sky was blue. For now. Up to the summit. That took about a half hour, weaving in and out of old vine-covered trails. And at the top, once again. Greens. Blues. Sky. Ocean. And Andy didn't mind kicking up as much mud as possible as he raced down the side of the mountain. When it came to biking through mud, Andy suddenly found himself eight years old again, tossing up plumes of dirt in the back yard, just for the fun of it. Before he knew it, he had raced all the way down the several hundred feet back to the farm. Through the countless banana trees. Down to the edge of the jungle. And just in time to clean up before the rest of the party arrived.

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They were prompt. Church had let out just in time. And everyone had arrived in three cars. They were an odd mix, all of them, as Andy looked around at their group. A few college kids. Many of them native Hawai'ians. A few of them were part-Japanese, their grandparents having immigrated a few decades back. And there were others, like him, from the mainland. But they all got along. Enjoyed each other's company.

It didn't take long for the new arrivals to bring in their food offerings for the afternoon and evening. Several large picnic hampers filled with hearty food. The guys were pleased with this. They were already starting to become low on provisions after only one day out. And then they were off. A long hike. Back around the edge of the farm. Up around the east side of the mountain. The mud was worse on hiking shoes than on bike tires. But no one seemed to mind. Everyone had cut their own walking staffs, or picked them up from the piles of driftwood at the beach before heading off. Andy had brought his own, used over the years in Boy Scouting. Over his many rather 'historic' hikes while in uniform, he had tacked the metal plates from the various places around the United States that he had visited. It was covered from top to bottom. Only a few spots left. He might save them for places someplace else in the world. Europe maybe. If he ever got over there. But for now, he had added a few more in the last two years from the

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islands of his new home.

The idea had been, at first, to carry the picnic hampers to the summit. But this plan was soon abandoned after they explained the condition of the mud. They had little trouble slipping around the slope enough as it was. But the results of their extended climb were well paid off.

The final view was just as it should be. They were at the western view of the mountain, open completely to the open ocean. It didn't matter to Andy how many times he reached the summit of any of those green-cloaked mountains. He was always stunned by its beauty. Breathtaking. Enough so to make the whole group quiet. Blasted from four corners by the wind. Watching the glory of the blue and green palette beneath their feet. And the clouds were beginning to fold over one another in the west. One over another, over another, until they began to grow into giant columns. But they were still far away. And though the winds were gusting, they seemed to remain stationary. Miles and miles across the vast blue pool. They stayed there long enough to survey the entire landscape, as much of it as possible, before the wind and their appetites drove them back down to the farm.

They gathered a few armfuls of bananas on the way and added them to their picnic hampers. A beach fire was quickly kindled, and the spread set out. Fresh fruits. Sliced vegetables. Enormous sandwiches stuffed within an inch of their lives with honey-cured ham, turkey, and salami. And coolers of juice.

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Everyone sat around the bonfire and ate heartily. After such a rigorous hike, out in the fresh ocean air, everyone's appetites were heightened. Joe could live in deli sandwiches for almost every meal to the end of his days, he was sure. There was something very satisfying about them, especially when eaten outdoors.

While everyone talked and laughed and discussed many things, Andy took out his sketch pad. He never really thought of his sketch pad as work. Since he was in college, he carried around a pocket moleskin. It was just the right size. Black. Thin. It held just a few dozen pages. But it was what he wanted. And since college, he had sketched through many of them. He kept them as a sort of reference for further ideas at work and for his own personal things. Many of them were filled with cartoons. Some held silly poetry. Others had elaborate and detailed landscapes and various settings. And others were of people. Just like the pages he was drawing that afternoon. He sketched some basic snapshots of the group around the fire, the ocean behind, and the tangle of jungle growth around the inlet.

And an hour passed in this manner.

By this time, several of the guys had passed out in a sort of after-lunch, after-hike nap on the sand. But they were soon roused by the rest of the group in order to begin the next part of the day. The surf was a little too high that afternoon. But the girls weren't disappointed. Not five hundred yards into the interior of the jungle was a hidden waterfall, spilling into a jungle pool, perfectly suited for swimming.

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They headed back through the cool green growth of the jungle floor. The continuous cackle of birds filled the quiet air of the palate around them. It was a relaxing, brief walk to the heart of that secluded grove of the farm. And Andy wasted no time running straight into the dark blue pool as soon as he saw it. Everyone splashed right in. The water was cool. Not too cold. Just about the right acceptability of coolness. Cascading from maybe one hundred feet above them from a rocky precipice. There would be no diving. The pool was too shallow for such tricks. But added entertainment wasn't necessary. The swim was enough. And refreshing. Blue. Chilling. And beautiful. Andy floated around, occasionally letting out a ripping splash of water toward the other guys.

It didn't matter how old they were. If they were in the same pool of water, there would inevitably be a splashing contest, akin to the old 'canon ball' contest. And it soon commenced. The girls took a temporary reprieve from swimming, in order to judge the boys on who could make the largest splash.

And in the end, Andy won.

He always could manage to make the largest splash, even back home when he was a kid and did complete belly-flops off the diving board in his grandpa's swimming pool.

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They stayed together out there for most of the afternoon. The sun shone warm on their little clearing by the time two o'clock had come around. And the rocks around the pool were soon baking. Andy stood in the pool, just under the falls. Nature's shower. A sort of power massage.

Then he stretched out on his stomach on one of the sun-warmed rocks. And he almost fell asleep. He might have. In the warm breezes. The laughing and talking of his friends in the pool. The faint roar of ocean. The chattering of the birds. And the rustle of the foliage in the small winds.

Just about as soothing as he could imagine.

When he opened his eyes again, it was nearing five o'clock. Time to straighten up and scrub down the farmhouse before dinner and returning home for the night.

Andy volunteered with a few of the other guys to clean up everything while the girls used the snorkel equipment down at the beach. The surf had died somewhat in the early evening hours.

Andy had always loved to clean things. One of his jobs through high school and college was working at a local car wash. He pulled out his bucket of cleaning solutions and polishing rags and set to work. The shower and bath were soon sparkling. Then the kitchen. A quick vacuum. He even finished up some dusting.

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And washed down the windows in the den. Then everything was piled in the car, except for the necessities for dinner.

By this time, everyone was well-ready for another meal. Andy and the other guys lugged down the picnic hamper and coolers back to the beach. And there was soon another fire roaring. They gathered together as the boys prepared the meal. It was a fish barbecue with honey and lime and barbecue sauces. Fresh, cold, pineapple and watermelon. And root beers. And then one of the guys brought out his ukulele for some group singing around the s'mores.

Andy sat back and watched the glittering stars. Singing awhile. Listening a bit. Munching away at the s'mores. Enjoying the beauty of those hours. The fellowship. He looking forward to a good week of work, a visit back home to family in a few months, and many more similar weekends to come.

Life was good.

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Chapter For

It was three weeks later. Another gorgeous weekend. Andy had already spent just about every evening out with his buddies that week, because one of the guys had a cousin in to visit. And they were all there to help show him the sights.

Including the traditional Hawai'ian luau.

In fact, Andy had only ever been to one luau. It was years ago when he had graduated from high school and visited Hawai'i on a senior trip with his two best friends. But he hadn't revisited one since that time. So he was looking forward to it, probably just as much as the visiting cousin.

It was a Friday night. The sun was still gold over the water. And Andy had hitched a ride to the beach with a couple of the other

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guys.

By the time they hit the sands, the crowds were beginning to arrive. Slowly at first. Everyone had reservations, so there wasn't any need to arrive very early. Andy shuffled across the sand. He liked the white beach there. Different from the volcanic sand at the farmhouse. Sometimes he wondered what would be at the very bottom of all of that sand. He and his buddies had decided that before they all split ways for Christmas, that they would dig an enormous hole in one of the quiet beaches. And they had jokingly promised to distribute all finds evenly. Who knew what might be under all that sand. Maybe centuries old. Ancient tribal tools. Cookware. Some sort of early coins... Things of value to the local museums.

But Andy could think about shoveling up ancient treasures later. They were all there, ready for the luau. Just about fifteen of them or so, altogether, as the girls had also decided to join them.

This particular luau took place directly on the beach, perpendicularly set to the line of the setting sun so that the stage was set on the beach, and the sun over the ocean was just to their left. Lines of flaming tiki torches were already flaming along the shoreline. Long tables were set up on the sand, one after another in rows. And the stage was set with firelight and some strategically placed electric light from the beach.

It looked like it was going to be a fun evening.

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They took their table near the back. Reservations had to be booked almost last minute, thus the back of the audience. But Andy didn't really mind. There, he had the advantage of viewing not only the performance, but the crowd and their reaction, and the crux of nature around him: Ocean. Jungle. Sky, star-filled. But for the moment, the evening was electric with the buzz of the crowd, the anticipation of the performance, the light of fire, and the smell of some amazing collections of food coming from the kitchens further into the interior of the beach. He could see a buffet as long as Chile, just at the other end of the tables, where already many of the foods were on display. Roasted meats. Glazed vegetables. Grilled vegetables. Everything artfully laced with exotic blossoms. It was a spectacular feast to behold.

As they waited, the conversation turned to silly things. Some jokes. Funny stories. Lighthearted things. Laughing. Sometimes, when Andy found something especially funny, he couldn't stop laughing. And that would bring on the proverbial 'tears of laughter', which happened a couple of times that night.

The girls, however, seemed to discuss other things amongst themselves, and were not quite so eager to join in on the hilarity of the boys' conversation. If it could be called a regular conversation.

It didn't take much longer, however. Just as the boys were about ready to start slamming their fists on

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the table in demand for food, a thing which the girls successfully convinced them not to do... The production began.

And it was just about the level of amazing spectacle that they had expected. Suddenly, Andy was back a number of years to that summer of his senior year in high school. Almost everything was the same again. Except this time, the food seemed to be, if possible, even better.

The first splash of colorful foods was a powerful sight to behold. Andy's eyes grew bigger as he looked over the delectables. A mountain of foods in so many colors and shapes, that Andy hardly knew which to attack first. There were piles of steak. Chicken. Fish. Roasted coconut and pineapple. Macadamia nuts. Banana bread. Carrot cakes. Polynesian sweet potatoes, which were purple, and as a result, rather fascinating. Taro rolls with macadamia nut butter.

And of course: The stuffed, roasted pig.

Andy sighed in complete food-satisfaction. The golden, rich meat of roasted pig. It was a beautiful thing.

The boys took a breather in between to relax their stomachs. The amount of food was overwhelming. But they didn't mind. It was a good thing, maybe, that before another course of food was set out, that the entertainment really began to commence.

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First came the hula dancers. And, as funny as the performance seemed to be, at least from the boys' perspectives... The girls poked them in the ribs a few times for snickering at the apparently 'silly' dance moves. It was kind of interesting to watch.

They could appreciate the tradition and the ambience of native dancing, particularly when they were in good spirits from the wealth of rich and satisfying food.

After the hula dancing had come to an end, there were other dances. A little more fascinating. More acrobatic, so to speak. Traditional music. Stories. Andy felt a sort of drowsy haze wash over him as the gurgling splash of the ocean on sand and the smoke of the tiki flames drowned his senses. The sun had lapsed into a dark blue sea, sinking the last of its gold gem light into night. Stars glittered. Andy could have taken a nap right there, in the hallucinating daze of fire and dancers and fire smoke and food.

Just then, however, there was a rather enormous clash of music from the stage, and Andy's eyes snapped open. It was good timing. Dessert was about to be served.

Out it came: Pineapple cakes. Guava cakes. Coconut cakes. Every other sort of cake. Sweet breads. And pies.

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Andy wondered if it would be possible to eat even one more mouthful. Fortunately, another break in the meal was coming.

Fire dancers!

This was something that caught the attention. Andy leaned forward to watch the dazzling spin of torches and fire-breathers. The shadows of the night were dark blue and black. Contrasted with the smoke of the tiki torches. And the rhythm of the whirling fire. It gave Andy ideas for cartoon sketches. But it was also just fascinating as it was, and Andy almost wished he had a high-speed camera to capture the twirling fire. Or a film capture. Then he would slow it down and watch the whole thing in slow speed. Then he wondered if the early Hawai'ians had played with fire the same way. Before they had been visited by missionaries and outsiders. Maybe they spun the fire to please the island gods. And he followed this train of thought, unconsciously, until...

The final course of food was announced.

Andy decided that he might just be able to eat a little bit more. He eagerly turned his attention to the platters of fresh island fruits.

Pineapple. Guava. Papaya. Mango. Cantaloupes. Honeydew melons. Watermelons.

Each wedge of sinfully sweet fruit, dripping in fresh juices.

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Andy tried to wrap his mind around eating some of each. But in the end, he took only a few pieces complete.

As the stars twinkled over the fire and food and friendships, he was pretty happy with the results of the evening. Sometimes, he thought that nothing could top the previous day in that land of plenty. And yet, somehow, there always seemed to be another day that did.

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Chapter Five

The following weekend, the visiting cousin was still in town. So it was decided that it was time to visit a place that not even Andy's entire group of friends had yet seen. That included Andy. For some reason he had never gotten around to visiting one of the most spectacular sights Hawai'i had to offer. And just now, it was at the peak of its activity. The visiting cousin had actually planned his trip around this particular event. So the next Saturday morning, they piled into their various modes of transportation for the day, which involved cars, ferries, etc. to the one and only spectacle of spectacles the islands of Hawai'i offered to the world...

Mount Kilauea.

The volcano of all volcanoes.

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But their mode of transport didn't end at the ferry. It just so happened that one of the guys in their group was a private jet pilot. And he had been given permission to use one of the small jets that he flew on a regular basis, to fly the entire group down the chain of islands to Kilauea. Andy was pretty excited about this prospect, to say the least.

Hawai'i from the air. And A volcano.

Not to mention the last stop of the day: Mauna Kea, the world's tallest mountain. Taller, even, then Mount Everest, measured from the ocean floor. Snow. Ocean. Jungle. Volcano. All in one day. There would be amazing star-gazing that night.

Andy could hardly contain his anticipation. None of the others could either, for that matter. There were just about eight of them ready for the flight that morning. And it was at about six o'clock in the morning when they arrived at the airfield, that the adrenaline kicked in for everyone.

One of the guys had brought Red Bulls.

It was going to be a guys-only day, all day, in Hawai'i's Big Island. There was no time to lose.

As the boys stowed their gear in the small plane, the sun was peaking. Gold and glorious over the mountains. Andy climbed into the jet, strapped himself in, and prepared for an

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exhilarating take-off.

It didn't take long for their pilot to get everything ready. Their co-pilot had been sort of hired for the day. Although he had insisted that they didn't need to pay him for accompanying the aircraft. He had his own plans of visiting some family on the island, while the boys were sightseeing.

The sputter and whir of the engines started up. The plane took its taxi down the runway in the early sun. Slowly at first. The crunch of rubber tires on pavement. The stall, waiting for their turn to fly.

And then... The race down the track. Like a jolt of lightening. Zooming at electric speeds down the runway.

Up! It was almost dizzying how quickly they were up in the blue over the greenery of the island. There were cheers from the plane as the boys congratulated their friend on a successful take-off.

And they began their trek above the islands.

It didn't take long for the sun to warm the skies. The blues of an early Pacific morning. Laced with white clouds, puffed in folds just above them. And below... The island turf, woven with greens and browns and blacks and whites. Like some strangely painted rock sitting in the sea. It was beautiful. Andy couldn't take his eyes from the seas below. To be there looking down on all of that was too captivating.

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The flight continued. The light of the sun increased as they sailed above the green islands. They broke out a few sodas in flight just because they could. And by the time they had finished those, the Big Island was in site below.

There it was:

The seeping core. Well, from the core anyway. A boiling pool of red fire.

Andy pressed his face as far into the glass as he could make it go. In the green rock below him sizzled the innards of the Earth. And it was pretty fantastic. Even from the air.

Soon, the plane circled into a landing, with all of the boys holding onto the sides of their seats as the descent became somewhat steep at one point. A little turbulence, just slightly, coming from elevation. And then a jolt as they hit the pavement.

More applause for the pilot.

They taxied down the runway. Then they gathered their gear and hopped a small bus to the terminal. After that, they wasted little time. A bus was already waiting just outside the airport. Andy piled in behind his buddies and took a seat next to the window, taking in the smell of freshly cleaned upholstery and scrubbed down rubber. The bus pulled away shortly later.

The drive was smooth. The bus barreled down the road maybe a little faster than necessary.

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Everything was green as always. There must have been a little rain during the night. The bus hit a few large puddles in the road, sending plumes of water into the air. A few more bends in the road. Further out, away from the airport, and into the national park. Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park.

The boys hardly waited two seconds once the bus came to a stop. They practically stampeded off the vehicle to their long-awaited destination.

The bubbling inferno!

As with many boys growing up, it seemed that all of the male crowd that day were, to some extent or less, a bit of the pyromaniac. And a natural explosion of fire and roaring lava couldn't be more tempting.

They approached. At some point along their walk, one of the boys faked a run, and this caused everyone to take off in a run. Fortunately, no one else was in their way. And as they came up on it, they suddenly came to an immediate halt.

Oh, the majesty! Oh, the glory! Oh, the fiery furnace of volcanic lava!

Andy just stood there in awe for some moments. Just gazing at it all. The expanse of black lava rock into a pillowing pot of creamy red. Fluffing itself around in its pot. Sloshing and spilling electric glops of lava around its steaming pore.

It was enough to send one into a trance.

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Staring into its mammoth red void. They got just about as close as they could hope. The crowds were down that morning. The heat was going to be up. At least until later in the afternoon when the rain came in. Andy shifted his backpack and adjusted the nozzle on the water platypus. The guys formed a sort of huddle on the lava rock to continue watching the sight. Funny how staring at a frothy puddle of red glop could attract so much attention. Andy could have watched it for hours. A rocket of fire from the center of the Earth.

They were in no hurry. By the time lunch came around, they weren't ready to leave, so they walked over to the visitor's lodge and ordered their meals. Andy was starving. They had walked a lot already. They wanted to see the volcano from every angle possible. He ordered up an enormous bacon barbecue cheeseburger and crispy French fries. And a mango juice. While there, they discussed putting together a short film involving the volcano before they left. One of the guys had a video feature on his digital camera. “We gotta put this to some good use,” said one of the guys. So things started to get a little loud in the restaurant as the boys quickly threw ideas back and forth. Not long later, they hurried back to the boiling crevice.

For a few more hours, they filmed. It ended up being a ridiculous plot about trying to save a little old Russian granny and her pet baby hippopotamus from falling into the bowels of the Earth. They wrapped up everything just as the rain came in. So they ran for the bus and got a short soaking just as they piled in

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through the doors. Andy made a flying leap and landed in the first seat available.

It was fun driving through the rain. Andy wondered what the volcano would look like in the rain. Sizzling like bacon in a frying pan. He got half the idea that maybe the fiery tower would cool so fast from the rain, if cold enough, that it would freeze into a sort of magnetic-looking sculpture. Black and shiny. Something that could possibly be seen in a museum of modern art. Andy took out his moleskin. Another idea for the drawing board.

The road kept on winding. It was about two o'clock, nearing three, and they were soon at their next destination of the day. And just as the rain was ending:

Mauna Kea.

It was majestic. If majestic were the right word. He could see the snow on the peak. Glistening like a pile of pearls. Splendor.

As the bus came to a stop, the boys were off again, into the rain-freshened air. Brisk. Cool. Wind from the ocean. Enough to nearly blow his hair off. And as they began their climb to the top, they were greeted by a garden. Some of the most fanciful blossoms on Planet Earth:

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Orchids. Hibiscus. Flowers in every color. Blazing like a necklace of jewels up the side of the mountain. Not that this particular thought came to Andy's mind. But it could be described as such.

The boys headed out in a pack up the mountain. He had refilled his water platypus with cold water. The sky was pressed over in silver. And things couldn't look better for a hike up the tallest summit in the world.

When they finally arrived at the top, the wind sucked their breath away. Andy had trouble standing still. It was so powerful. He tried to walk into it, near the edge, but he could hardly even do that. It smashed down from the clouded sky. And it didn't stop. It just kept coming. They all laughed, trying to push their way into the onslaught. But it was near impossible.

Soon, Andy's face felt raw. His arms and legs soon followed. And his ears felt like they might have been made of ice. But there was something addicting about standing there in the wind. He had been in Hawai'ian winds before, but this beat all of them. It was amazing.

They ended up staying for about an hour or so. Which was longer than anyone else stayed. Most of the visitors wore ponchos, thinking that the clouds might soon break rain again. Some wore knit caps and windbreakers, some heavy coats, as if they were on Everest and not in Hawai'i.

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“We'll pay for this tomorrow,” said one of the guys. “Ear infections. Colds...” But it was worth it. They all promised each other to return again, and soon.

They took a break from the wind at about five. Somehow the wind had made them extremely hungry. So they hiked back down to the lodge for an enormous meal before sunset.

It was time for pizza.

Monster pizzas.

They each ordered their own. Deep dish. Andy had his piled high with triple cheese, sausage, and pepperoni. Everlasting mugs of iced root beer. They laughed and joked and discussed numerous things, bordering on the serious and the plain ridiculous. They reviewed the clips of their volcano movie. Andy finally felt full as he finished the very last slice. They all decided that they would have dessert later. After the sunset.

Because it was just about seven. And the sun was just sifting the water's edge. They hustled out to the lookout point. And there they observed the melting bands of golds and russets. Scarlets and indigos. Reds and yellows. And every other color, blending into the oncoming violet, sapphire, and then black of night. And the stars.

They sat there for maybe an hour or more, just watching the sight. Planets, constellations, satellites. Heavenly bodies shooting across the night sky.

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And Andy thought that he couldn't quite imagine anything more stunning than that.

At about eight o'clock, they returned to the bus. Hit an ice cream stand at the airport. And piled into the little plane.

And as they soared above the island into the night sky, Andy marveled over the island lights, little lamps spread out in the dark.

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Chapter Six

A quiet Sunday afternoon.

Sometimes it was just nice to come home from church. Make a simple lunch. Nap on the couch with the soft fall of the rain out the windows.

It was that kind of day.

Andy pulled into his parking space. He was fortunate to have a covered spot. Up the stairs, one at a time. Most days he took them two or three at a time. But when the sky was rumbling in the west with dark thunderclouds... He liked to walk slower and listen to the roar of the ocean and the thunder and take in the smell of the rain blown in from the water. It hadn't come yet. The rain.

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But it would be there soon.

Inside was cool. Andy had left the windows open and the deck door. The rattan blinds were rolled up all the way. The curtains blew gently in the cool mountain breezes. Andy walked up to the deck windows and watched the green on the mountain jungles rippling behind the screen. He took in a deep breath. Fresh air. The remnants of Sunday morning coffee.

Andy liked his apartment. Maybe it wasn't the largest on the island. But there were many windows to let in the light and the wind. Then a little bedroom next to the bath. And the kitchen open next to the living area. He had customized everything. Painted the walls. Hung several nice prints, reflective most of his passion for cars and cycling. And everything in the kitchen was state-of-the-art. All the appliances were purchased after carefully researching Consumer Reports. So was the pantry. Every food item especially selected for best taste and best nutrition.

Andy switched into his flannel lounge pants and his Ferrari t-shirt, a gift from his parents when they had visited Italy a number of years ago. He walked into the kitchen. It was just the kind of day for soup and sandwiches. Just what he needed:

A hot bowl of hearty vegetable and chicken stew. And an equally hot pastrami sandwich. With a side of sweet potato chips.

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He arranged his food on the tray. With a Naked juice. One of his favorites. And out onto the deck.

That was one of the first things he had purchased upon moving into the apartment. A deck table and two chairs. All three pieces made out of solid wood. Something to stand the test of time and the various elements. It had already served him well. On the middle of the table he grew an aloe vera plant in a small pot. Sometimes when he got various cuts from biking skids, he broke off one of the leaves and rubbed it in.

The wind was up even more as Andy set down his lunch. He took as long as possible to finish all of his food. The rumble of thunder grew louder. The flash of lightening reflected across the frothing inlet. About half-way into his sandwich, the rain broke. Softly at first. And as he continued with the soup, it came in faster. It was a monsoon-like rainstorm.

Perfect.

Andy brought in his dishes and loaded the dish washer. He lit his hazelnut coffee-scented candle. A gift from Mom. The curtains were flying back in the wind as it whistled through the windows, bringing misted rain in its wake. Andy took the plate of cookies from the pantry. He had tried his hand at a batch of snickerdoodles, following his sister's recipe. They hadn't turned out half-bad for his first attempt.

Thunder rumbled from the ocean.

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Beautiful afternoon. Andy settled in with the cookies. And a blanket and a book. He had never been much of a reader. But occasionally he came across a book that sparked his interest. And today was a day for reading.

The stack of cookies slowly diminished as Andy continued to read under the light of the table lamp next to the couch. And the rain continued to fall. The rhythm of it all was peaceful. Quiet. Lulling...

When Andy woke from his nap several hours later, it was four o'clock. He yawned and stretched, just catching the empty cookie plate and his book as they rolled off his stomach toward the floor. Good timing. Andy loved his Sunday afternoon naps, when applicable. It wasn't uncommon for him to join the guys for lunch and some outdoor activity after services.

Andy took the plate to the kitchen. The rain was falling more softly now. He would do a little laundry. He had run out of time on Saturday. But he needed a clean shirt and jeans. In a few hours he would be joining the gang for dinner and the movies.

So he started the suds in the wash. Straightened up a few things. Scrubbed down the shower. Made a cup of coffee. Soon, his little apartment smelled like rain and soap and coffee beans.

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And then it was time to leave.

Andy opened the window of his Honda as he coasted around the freshly washed roads. The rain still fell. And the growl of thunder was over the mountains.

He loved that island. Just about the most beautiful place on Earth. Maybe someday he would return home. Maybe someday.

But until that day, his days on that glorious island would be his heaven on earth.

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