A yellow-orange sky was usually my cue to pour a glass of refrigerated Franzia and stroll to our school’s beach, dog in tow. I’d sit on the fallen coconut trunk and dip my feet in the ocean. Five or so minutes would go by, and the sky would darken. Then we’d return home for dinner.
It happened exactly this way dozens of times.
Tonight’s sunset was different, and the most meaningful. This was my last sunset in Ha’apai, and to celebrate I bought myself a bottle of New Zealand Pinot noir (newly available on the island), put a relaxing playlist on my iPod, and headed to the beach with my camera and tripod. This wouldn’t just be a 5-minute break, but an hour-long cathartic reflection. And Banjo meditated with me.
It had only just hit me that my time in Ha’apai was about to be over. Just hours earlier I had emptied my house into my principal’s house. He became the beneficiary of almost everything I owned. Using my dishes and utensils, he made me one last hearty and delicious meal, finishing just in time for the sunset. This was it.
As the sun peered between clouds and Air played their downtempo electronica, I nearly finished that bottle.
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