Brown at first, thick with mud.
Pausing to spit out an air pocket, gushing forth again.
Spilling over into ditches, around banana clump, down to taro patch.
Clear cold water reaches lo‘i, fills in around thirsty, eager taro plants.
Soil opens to accept flood.
Feel sighs of gratitude, roots receive cool quenching.
Leaves fold to and fro in gentle breeze, waving appreciation.
Golden light of fading day sets green aglow, shadows stretch and yawn.
Friendly soft conversation joined by giggling water flowing down to each next patch,
each splashing bubbling spill its own tone, rhythm, voice.
Scent of orange slim taro blossoms rich, thick in air, like rotting mango, intoxicating.
Fuschia dragonflies dart in intense predation,
then joining in twos for curling mid flight love-dance.
Step into a patch, feel cold water, thick mud between toes.
Scoop a handful of muddy water, pour onto broad dark leaf,
watch in fresh wonder as it beads up like mercury and rolls off,
leaving no slightest hint of moisture or mud behind, it truly never touches.
Smile at beauty, blessing of living water.
Take a long deep breath —Haloa.