When I close my eyes I see Hawaii and all of her hidden secrets, and I know that I belong there….” Anna Dickinson

My sister Anna longs for a place which is luscious and forever green, a place of soft winds and oceany whispers.  She comes from a land filled with giant, jagged mountains, as I do, where the green is darker and the winds fiercer.  It is a land, our land, that is rugged and often wild, not quite tamed yet still ferociously beautiful.

Yet I know why she yearns for the softness of Hawaii and smells Plumeria blooms on still Northwest nights.  For the island is where she found herself, where all that she wanted had come together for a brief moment in time and she knew that she was living her life the way it was meant to be lived.  Like all fond memories though, it has sweetened with time and the rough edges that existed have been smoothed out and glossed over.

I know the way she feels because it is the same for me when I dream about LA’s gritty streets.  I can close my eyes and feel the warm Santa Ana winds drift over my skin and the pulse of humanity & the beat of urban life throb under my eyelids.  It was the place where I discovered who I was and where my life, however fleetingly, held everything I could have wanted.  And when we dream of these places, our adopted lands, I imagine we both ache to return and the hunger to relive those days, at times, seems unquenchable.  Yet things change and the place & the world we long to revisit, may no longer exist; at least not as it does in our memories.  So what must we do?? Wrap up those times in a crimson cloth and stash them away for future rainy nights?  Or return to those places, knowing full well that all may be different but still somehow be able to summon the courage to start over again anyway?

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