We left the cool green morning that collects between the trees near the volcanoes to make our way down to the southern tip of the island. Look out across flaxen fields of grass dotted with cattle and horses the color of sand to see the ocean meet the sky.
The path to Papakōlea was hot and dusty. Shadeless. Deep grooves worn into the earth by the slow stream of vehicles carrying passengers to their destination became our walking path between volcanic rock and those plants brave enough to grow on the barren land. The sea gleamed silver and licked the coast and I was reminded of a place I have yet to see. Two miles in, and there it was like a mirage carved into the landscape: remnants of a 49,000 year old cinder cone, memory of ancient earth, olive green sand sloping down to meet turquoise water.
Beautiful!