Remember, remember Australia? The day I stepped into that dance and whirled away with my dizzying fascinations? Those weeks I grew up in simple ways? My time in New Zealand added as well. But Newcastle, with its secondhand bookstores and brick buildings and rickety railways and Youth Street labels and floral skirts and wayfarer sunnies. I forget of that complicated dance that overwhelmed my heart. Was it really a year ago? The laughter of Lewis House continuously echoes through my head. I forget what it was like. Then I catch a glimpse of a photo, a video clip, via social networking. Remember, remember? In no way is it perfection. But I learned of life. Deeper than people realize.
Those in Newcastle probably look upon Kona as the infamous, glory-spilled, palm tree-filled wonderland. Oh, it certainly is fascinating here and I’m sure anyone would be impacted if they had two weeks of fun like I did in Australia. But anyone wants to visit Hawaii. Few think of a girl who would like to be driving up the motorway to Newy to make her older brother the happiest guy around. I’d love to start a new dance. Maybe one day I will, but for now I hear the dissipating notes of that last song. It still is a delightful melody.
