when a vacation felt like a new beginning

She plucked the two-pronged metal sheath from the bed of golden curls spiraled & piled atop her crown and it fell into her hand. Soft & supple, the caressed the milky white petals and felt its youth; its tactile innocence & vitality. It clung to the tips of her fingers the way she clung to her own vitality & this place.

Her youth.

Her zest.

For life.

For love.

For the lemon-yellow center, bitter & beautiful as her own.

The wrinkles of the wind-blown petals were soothed by her touch, age defied in her grasp by intimate caring & persistent adoration. Its floral aroma wafted on the warm breeze & tickled her nose, raising mountains on her triceps & sending tidal waves singing through each of her vertebrae. She was alive here. All her pieces, shattered, counted & kept; They melded together here. Not perfectly; Not to recreate what was but to birth something new. Like the Plumeria she stroked in her tender palm, she bloomed here. A bouquet; Never cut & dry, & never again left to wilt. A fragrant blossom among dried herbs; so much more than intoxicating allure or fleeting pleasure. Passion in full bloom & facing sunward, forward, onward.

Laying it gingerly on the circular crevice of her drink tray, she allowed her lids to fall and her lashes intertwine. She suppressed the waterfall threatening to burst forth & whispered instead a soft "Mahalo". Opening her eyes, she sighed; A sigh of relief, of exuberant and uninhibited joy. The breath of "Ha". She looked back longingly at the sparse floral arrangement on the table tray of 23F one last time & a low laugh escaped her lips. And after, a final "Aloha"; Not in closing, but in greeting.

Not an ending, but a beginning.