The Sounds of Ka’anapali

I wake each morning to the sounds of the wind rustling (or beating against) the palm fronds at the tops of the trees that are level with our lanai.  The sliding door has been pushed wide open, curtains back, to let in the maximum level of Hawaii to our generic but lovely hotel room.  And so I can hear the birds, near and far, calling to each other.  I can hear the low hum of the ocean.  Every now and then a human noise, like a voice, or an engine.

This waking is gentle and pleasant, like my mother murmuring to me that it’s time to wake up but without rush.  Fortunately my itinerary is not so packed that I am rushing myself and my own child through this magical time on Maui.  Or I wake early enough that I have time to enjoy the simple pleasure of listening.

Later in the day from this room I can hear the delighted screams and shouts of the divers atop Black Rock, a series of craggy volcanic rock that juts out of the shoreline at one end of the Sheraton Maui property.  The only way to get to the top is to climb its sharp surface.  Around noon the crest was crowded with swimmers either diving or watching one another.  As we snorkeled nearby I dipped my face into the water to watch the divers as they came down:  the plunge was deep, but not dangerously so.  It looks scarier than it really is.  Still, I didn’t feel any desire to try it!

The beach is crowded and full of sounds – children crying and laughing, people calling out to each other, music playing in the shopping kiosks or in the bars, splashing, the clinking of glasses, and still the birds and the waves crashing. But out on the water without an engine nearby all you hear is the breeze.  Kyle and I went parasailing a few days ago.  Twelve hundred feet above the water the air was quiet and cool.  We screamed and shouted at first, and then continued to marvel at the amazing height we reached, and thank goodness we’re wearing life vests, and isn’t this awesome?  When we weren’t talking, we heard the quiet air and the flapping of the fabric in the parachute.  The creaking of the lines that held us fast.

The winds have been constant and sometimes so strong that it steals our hats from our heads if they are not fastened beneath our chins by the straps.  At bedtime after Kyle has fallen asleep, I listen again to the trees as they sway and slap.  It’s strong but not threatening.  It lulls me to sleep.