Wake in the Blue Hour of morning and walk Luluku Road. It is cool now. The air is fresh and new. The night’s rain recedes to a vast, blue cloudlessness. To the east, the day’s first light cracks over the ocean horizon while high above the waning glimmer of the more stubborn stars still cling to the cerulean sky.
A singular time. A threshold. That noiseless place where night once more slips through the fingers of the ever-pursuing daylight. Luluku Road is stillness. No dog-walkers, no joggers, no running men. The birds are yet still silent. The humming night insects now quiet, hiding from the approaching light.
But do they see you, all the sleeping people? Will they feel the traces of your presence? Will they sense that you’ve been there, shuffling past the houses in the shadow of the dawn? O, Morning Ghost, if you linger long enough, would you become them also, living in their clothes and skin? Not so much homeless, but still never at home…
Just now, someone on their morning drive, it would seem, off to some unknown somewhere. Taking the curves, lazy and wide, coasting, almost floating until they reach the crossing where you are. No longer alone - with a quick flash of their lights - you see and are seen. Acknowledged by the new day.
Ahead, just beyond the neighborhood, the Ko’olau rise. The Windward. Jutting up, straight skyward. Sheer things, less like a mountain range than some massive cresting wave. Looming over, all awe and terror and serenity, making thatch huts of the grand homes, dwarfing the little things we have made.
The sun is almost up now. It is time to leave. Time to be someone else, somewhere different from here. Doing things from other people, and not yourself…living in the day. But still thinking of the mountains, wondering at them, all the sleeping people, all the people you might have been.
Luluku Road. Oahu, Hawaii.
There are secrets to be found. Go there.