South Point (Ka Lae) is at once the southernmost point of the Big Island, Hawaii, and the United States. It is its own lone buttress against the ceaseless wind, but rich with grass, bright sun, and the vast lap of the whitecap ocean. You can see it there in the distance where the land ends.
Everyone in Wyoming must lean into the wind to stay upright, the joke goes. If the wind ever stopped, everyone would fall over. South Point is the same, though in Hawaii everyone is always leaning a little, all the time.
It is as clean as California before humans, as Canada if the Arctic’s crispness could be combined with warmth. Light itself glows and the wind blows its heat away, and all you feel is bright.
The ceaseless wind hasn’t been lost on the geld-thinking white man, at least those with longer vision:
They spin ceaselessly, at a high rate. I’ve never seen such vigorous windmills. It’s a no brainer here.
Previous turbines have been abandoned to rust, though one still spins in a distracted meander. Imagine them new in 1985 or so, beating out a future more promising than bigger diesel tankers. Maybe we’ll arrive at the future, someday.