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The beach moves about at night, as if grooming itself in the darkness. By morning, as the sun comes out from behind the mountain, leisurely extending its fingers over the sandy beach, no vestige remains on the sand of the stains and blemishes left by human being the day before. The beach has been swept clean and pristine. Nobody is here at this hour, and even sea and land breezes take a break from their ceaseless jousting. The only sound is that of the water at the far edge of the beach, the hem
of the sea gently lifting. There is the faintest touch of moisture in the breeze; nothing is there but an awakening sense of liberation. This is the simplest time of day.
*
When I was teens, I went in search of a place by the water
that was right for me. I wanted a kind of water, a kind of place that would put me at ease, because I intended to spend a lot of time there. The search was much like seeking out a lover - there had to be an affinity between us. Few spots had the waves I wanted. But when I saw the seductively melting light
on the water here, I felt like raising my arms in surrender to its beauty. This is where I'll live, I decided. In that instant, I saw the water's latent sensuality rise up.
*
Swimming out toward the open sea, I feel as if I am gliding over the surface. The water around me gradually changes colors. Once I get past the breakers, great waves send the horizon bobbing up and down. Rising swells toss me up, then yank me back down with equal force. The light twists and turns as it rushes over the walls of water in front of me. I feel strangely happy, filled with a profound contentment beyond what I would expect from mere play. It reminds me of the feeling I had as a child when I flew really high in a swing for the first time.
*
When a wave stands like a gorgeous curtain, it means a land breeze is blowing straight at the water, forcing it to pause and build a beautiful arch before it breaks. In a very strong wind, myriad droplets spray from the crest as if the air is peeling off the top of the wave. A really fierce wind can atomize these droplets into a
tail of mist as long as fifteen feet.
*
In front of the restaurant where I often went to eat breakfast is a small lagoon. A 13,700-foot-high peak looms in the background. Cold, clear water flows from a spring, blurring the surface of the lagoon where it mingles with the warm sea water. While gazing at the water, I would decide what I was going to do that day. The color of the water bestowed its blessing on the aimlessness of my day-today existence.
From "Hawaiian Light : The Tao of the Islands" by Nobu Nakayama(Viz Communications/1997)
These sentences are picked from the author's comments of each thumbnail image at the end of the book.
Nobu Nakayama
He was born in Tokyo. In 1979, he went to Hawaii, and entered the University of Hawaii at Manoa. He then moved to the University of Hawaii at Hilo to study photography. He lives in San Francisco since 1994, and has been taking pictures of the Southwest's nature.
Copyright 1997 by Nobu Nakayama
Photograph Copyright 1997 by Nobu Nakayama
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