“If you print it, they will come.”

That phrase seemed to float on a breeze on a warm Fremoahu night.  Was it a dream?  Images of deep blue water, languid sea grasses, and the occasional brightly-colored fish flitted frictionlessly through my mind.  Eventually, the famous Mad Gringo Pineapple skull entered my thoughts as well.  Nothing coalesced.  All these pictures danced around in my head, arranging and rearranging themselves in colors and patterns.

I suddenly snapped to alertness as my Pina Colada dribbled a cold trail of slush across my chest.  I nearly fell out of my hammock as I thought I heard the whispered voice again say, “If you print it, they will come.” The sun was descending in the west as I rolled out of my resting spot.  While I dozed, the Big Island’s beach had cleared.  I was completely by myself.  Alone with my vision.  I noted the distant surf sounded a little bit louder than I remembered.  The air smelled a bit saltier. And then it was gone. Only the swirl of color