Orange Moon

Returning to my home of all homes, there are many things that will always remain constant. Besides the ever growing ohana, the chickens that crow at two o’clock in the morning, the extremely vocal cows, the harmonious stray dog chorus and a town that goes silent at sundown. Surrounded by pasture lands, macadamia nut farms, and reformed sugar cane fields that now serve up silky smooth robust ka’u coffee beans and the hide and go seek pakalolo patch, this home of all homes is blanketed by a crisp night sky, littered with millions of unvisited stars

and an abnormally bright white moon.

The white moon is no more. Well, at least for now. Peles thick sulfuric dioxide, a.k.a. VOG, partnered with our trademark trade winds, now sufficate the lower half of Hawaii. Yup, choke choking. That makes complete sense if you speak pidgin. For the past week and half, I’ve been speaking hoarse “Ka’u” Pidgin under an orange moon. Very creepish, when you add in the pitch black surroundings of country nightfall. Also, unwanted random sounds seem to amplify themselves. Yeah, dakine sounds that make you tweak your neck saying “what the fuck was that!” in your head over and over.

This orange tainted moon made me realize I’m still scared shitless of the dark. And I’m not talking about not having the living room light on at night. I’m speaking of the blackness in between the forest of mac nut trees, and dirt roads that lead to more blackness. If you see me in Ka’u, I’ll be the one winding up the battery-less flashlight at 7pm. Ready for the orange moon.