Rose Quartz, Smooth Lava

My childhood—multifaceted – multiplaned – geometric planes.  Rose Quartz and Smooth Lava – pink and black – California and Hawaii – my formative years.  My innocent years. The years I thrived.

Photo by guille pozzi on Unsplash

Rose Quartz

I am playing in our backyard.  Vista, California.  There is an orange grove beyond the fence.  I can smell the blossoms breathing sunshine on the breeze. The ground is scattered with pink quartz.  I am not sure why.  Perhaps my mother was turning soil for a new garden. But it shimmers in the bright scented sun.  The calla lilies of the old garden had not yet bloomed.  Later.

The rose quartz an ethereal glow next to the one large snail with spiral coils on its shell.  Also glistening.  Its slow movement across the fertile soil.  Pink studded.  Glowing and shimmering.  Pink quartz scents my childhood.

Smooth Lava

Kaneohe, Hawaii.  Black lava and green mountains and the red fires of Pele forging the rock. It too shimmers but only when wet. Often the surf pounds that lava—in some places for so long that it is smooth with no jagged edges and feels good on the skin. Bare feet and legs and arms, face turned to the ocean. In others, still jagged, much younger, you can almost feel Pele’s wrath.  Don’t take her from the island.  Just don’t.  The locals tell you.  There are signs.  And portents.  My childhood – a shimmering plane of my life. I miss the joy of smooth lava. The shimmering lava touching my skin, my heart.  Smooth lava – its touch in the bright sun warms my childhood.

Pele’s Wrath, Rose Skies

I miss the shimmer.  The word carefree is too trite.  And incorrect.  I had cares.

My spelling test –did I do okay?  I think I got a 100.  Did I? 

Versus is my life going to be okay?  My beloveds.  Are they okay?  Will they be okay?  Will the lava smooth out from the pounding?

I left the orange grove of my childhood.  Pink and shimmering scented sun. I left the island of my childhood, smooth lava, Pele not enraged. Black and shimmering with the touch of ocean breeze.  Maybe Pele is angered that I left the island.  I want to return.

Black clouds, pink sky in the morning.  More rain coming.  You can smell it on the breeze.  Feel it on your skin. Black clouds, pink sky at night, you can feel it pound the jagged edges.  And pound.  And pound. 

Multifaceted, geometric shimmering planes form me. I am strong.  I will smooth out and be soft to the touch, shimmering spirals of my life.  A double helix. Curved, shimmering, glistening, smooth.  My formative years.

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