Waianapanapa was peaceful, with gentle breezes and lite surf. But the surf here is not really "lite" even on a calm day. These are not shores of gently lapping waves and sandy beaches. These are shores of rugged stone ramparts holding fast against an unrelenting pounding, a battle slowly lost little by little every day. A campaign fought partly by defectors from her own front line. Boulders the size of chairs, having left the cliffs for good, now work ceaselessly to help bring them down. When you walk the trails along the shore you hear, not just the waves, but the unending wash of this army of stones and they roll back from their latest grind against the guardians of the island. When you are further back from the shore, as I am now -in the cabin, the high frequency of the surf's assault is lessened but still the battle can be witnessed. No longer evidenced in your ear so much,  here you feel the struggle in a low, inaudible roar of subsonic rumbles. Once sharp edged faces of these mighty cliffs these soldiers of the ocean now have pounded themselves into rounded warriors  and soon will end up like there forefathers -as  grains on one of Waianapanapa's black sand beeches.

Painting by walfridostudios@hawaii.rr.com