That smear of green... Hills and valleys...

That smear of green... Hills and valleys. Jaston would climb up those trees to pick coconuts and soursops... He was quick. I’d run from one end to the other screaming and trying to catch everything he threw: “Wait a minute, boy! Let me catch up!” Then we’d fly our kites... Always in the morning because: “That’s when we get the best wind, bél nonm. We can spend hours up in the clouds.” The afternoon was for playing cowboys and Indians and at night straight to the Paimai river for a cold dip. I loved watching that boy under the light of the moon... His black skin shined like a thousand stars. I can’t get him out. So many damn pills and everything in me rots I love him so much. Ain’t that somethin’?