2 1/2 weeks ago, that's all it was, and now it's gone. That part of the island is all gone. I have the memories, of course, and the pictures, as others have as well. When I'm looking at these pictures, they're not from years ago - it's WEEKS ago. Less than a month is all it is, and there we were:
There's the big scoop under the 150-year old banyan tree. Burnt to a crisp.
There she is drinking from a coconut in a park, palm by her side. Ash.
That's the place with the delicious ono. Best fish and chips I've ever had. Gone.
A bit north of there, we went snorkeling at that beach and then hung out in that part of the island. Finished.
I stayed north of there, not in Lahaina, but so what? It's just another one dodged, a disaster missed by days, by a half-dozen miles. But what if I didn't? What if you didn't?
How do you create a vibe? How does a neighborhood give off a feeling? More importantly, can it ever recapture that feeling? How long are those locals, most of whom were friendly, migrants of climate change? When do they come back? What if they don't? And even if they do, nothing is the same, so then what?
There are hundreds of questions being asked by fellow Hawaiians and visiting fans. Should we expect this? Is this the future? Can it be changed? Is it too late?
I'm filled with questions, as you can see, but also something less than survivor's guilt. It very easily could have been us in there, all simply a matter of planning and when school starts. I've spent the whole week depressed, and little if anything has been able to get me out of this funk. We read the stories and then stare at the ground or off into space. We look at the pictures and think of "before" when we were there so recently and sigh.
The sun will set. It will rise again. That is known. The rest...is not.
