This morning on my walk with my dog, I noticed the quiet, beautiful hints of the seasons changing, the kind that don’t demand attention, but gently invite you to pause. The forsythia, jonquils, hyacinths, and cherry trees are all in bloom, each one offering soft bursts of color against the fading gray of winter. There’s something comforting about their predictability, their quiet assurance that spring always finds its way back.
The Choptank River was as still as a mirror, reflecting the pale morning sky. It felt like it was holding its breath, waiting like I was for the return of swans and ducks. There’s a certain peace in these small, familiar rhythms of nature, a reminder that even in a world that often feels chaotic, some things remain steady and true.
I paused at my driveway garden before ending my walk. I noticed a delicate honeysuckle vine peeking out of my flower garden and the tightly closed clusters of buds at the tip of my lilac bush. My thoughts turned to California and Hawaii and the gift that so many fragrant flowers are always in bloom. Orchids grew on my plumeria tree and the poinsettia bush in my front yard in Hawaii bloomed year round.
Of course my mind drifted to the scenes of flooding in Hawaii this spring, such a sharp contrast to the quiet unfolding beauty in front of me. My Instagram feed has been filled with images from Hawaii, where the flooding has dramatically reshaped places that once felt so familiar to me. Heavy rains pummeled the North Shore last week, and there are growing concerns about the stability of the over-100-year-old Wahiawa dam. The images are striking; roads turned into rivers, newly formed waterfalls and landscapes transformed almost overnight.
Seeing those scenes stirred something deep in me. It brought back vivid memories of my time living on Oahu. I felt sorry for tourists who would visit in December, the rainy season. I remember intense storms, mostly hurricanes, where the wind would howl and the rain would come down in sheets. But flooding was never something we worried about in the areas near Pearl Harbor where I lived. Watching the videos now feels like stepping back in time, but with a new perspective, one shaped by distance, memory, and a deeper awareness of how fragile even the most beautiful places can be.
I spent so many happy days on the North Shore. It was a place that felt alive in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it. It always felt like stepping back in time to an Oahu before it became a state. There were “Mom and Pop” stores lining the streets in the little beach towns of Haleiwa, Waialua, and Mokuleia. The North Shore was always on the list of places to see for any family and friends that would visit from the mainland, especially the Dole Pineapple Plantation. To eat pineapple fresh from the field is a “bucket list”experience.
Even the drive to the Windward side of the island felt magical, those dramatic cliffs rising alongside the road, the lush, almost impossibly green vegetation, and the endless, shimmering views of the Pacific Ocean stretching out beyond the horizon. It was the kind of drive that made you slow down, roll the windows down, and just take it all in.
And then there were the rainbows. So many rainbows. Sometimes faint and fleeting, other times bold and brilliant, arching across the sky as if placed there just for you. They always felt like little moments of grace, a perfectly timed, unexpected gift of the rain.
In Hawaii, rain is often seen as a blessing, a sign of good luck and renewal. It nourishes the land, feeds the waterfalls, and keeps everything vibrant and alive. Even now, as I watch the storms from afar, I hold onto that perspective. There’s power in the rain, yes, but also healing, growth, and the promise of something new.
This morning, standing by the stillness of the river while thinking of the storms across the ocean, I was struck by the contrast, and the connection. Nature, in all its forms, reminds us of both its gentleness and its strength. It teaches us to notice, to remember, and to find meaning in both the calm and the chaos.
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