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Like the white iris. Calling they are the ones there. The winds are silent. This is a Haiku I wrote. I’ve been thinking about my grandpa. I remember him saying to my grandma that he wanted to return home to the Philippines. On a few occasions He would tell the story of leaving the Philippines to go to Hawaii where his dad was working in plantation and how the journey was long on a boat arriving in Molokai where people there told him where he would find his dad. I would spend countless visits with my grandparents on Kauai where grandpa worked on plantation for his entire adult life never returning to his home. He would like taking me to the processing plant where the sugar cane would be processed. As I recall this memory I can smell the cane being heated, the smell of the dirt, cane and the cooking of it. Grandpa was very proud of his work and what he was responsible for taking part in the production of sugar. As the years went on life got busy and I would spend less and less time on Kauai. Grandpa passed never returning back to his home in the Philippines. I imagine his heart called him often - as mine calls me. This is a painting I recently sent to my mom for her birthday. I call it Dreaming of Haena.