Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

The Pineapple Express.

That’s what we call it, and yesterday, I smelled it coming.

6AM. Dark. Walking between the streetlight pools, heading to the bus stop, the wind picked up. I lifted my head, facing the wind, facing the southwest, and I felt it on my face, felt it warm and moist like a facecloth at the barber shop. I could smell the greenery in it, the lush growth of Hawaii and the tropical waters between. This wind had seen land before, jetting from Oahu to Seattle, bringing us rain and rain and rain.

It blew all day, and today the rain is here. Four to seven inches in the elevations, bringing floodwaters to the rivers, rain to my garden, and warmth to my budding groves.

The Pineapple Express has arrived.

k