I smell the plumeria and the papaya, wafting in through the dusty screens from the hot window square.

Those little holes that syphen in the air from the outside world.

All is alive, here on Kauai.

My skin is bitten and kissed by the hot fire ball of the sun, I am tattooed by that big star.

Sticky is my face, theres a layer of aloe vera and sweat and when I squint everything is moving.

I feel liquified, I feel fresh and I smell like sweaty,

papaya/ grapefruit,

banana

cream

Oozing from all of my openings,

Like a window screen,

I see from my papaya seed eyes, into the water fallen mountains, In to being here now

& I ponder my pieces

as I weed in the pineapples, and water them, and get poked by their pokeys.

On my soft, young skin.

The nursery is outside, with orchids by the monkey pods and I sit there and settle in.

Not sure, where I am settling.

I am in it so hard that I don’t know how this relates to the quilt other than I am in the

fabric.

I am an absolute, thread.

Observing a way, observing a part of myself that begs,

like the gecco on the wall

(silence and voice.)

Stella the dog has gotten so plump from all of the avocados

nothing has changed around here much, except me.

And I am reminded of the old hippie ways. The old story that is being silent, and being still.

The old story that lives

in my mortal body, looking for my village means

taking care of the inside qualities in which,

I own.

I can’t help but owning and looking out

my papaya eyes.

The essential oils that smell the best are in Mama Linda’s bathroom,

the ornate persian rugs on the ground, the orchids and the noticing

of the ART

that is EVERYWHERE, and all around.

In circles of wisdom and compassion,

there are crystals and books and surfing and mind expanding experiments, art, acid tests

and opening, and opening, and thriving

and fun

cause its all we can do today.

All I can do today is sit down, move around, pick the grapefruit from the top of the tree

make love,

imagine making love to a mango tree,

to the mountain, to the waterfall, to my story

My unfolding story

of following the pumping heart organ,

that rings sounds off the hill.

Someday, when I have a village to provide for… I will have so many seeds.

So many beads,

for now I must seek the village, seek the story, seek the grandma

and the patience here where the heart

beacons,

orchids, plumeria, wetness, love, and plump, plump, succulence,

and embracing life.