It was discouraging to watch the landscape destroy itself from within. Always the same three colors, fighting for control. Creamy yellow, quick to anger, hot and smoldering; blue swirls, never landing on one shade, or one emotion; and of course brown, a shell of strength and power, hiding the tears within.

The sun’s attitude is repulsive , as it flaunts the sparkle and beauty of it’s golden coat, laughing as the blue sky turns away jealously, insulted, planning the next attack. The sky shrouds the sun in darkness, a wall of grey coving it’s beauty.

While the battle persists, russet cliffs jut through, desperately trying to fly under the radar. Instead, they create harsh lines, blocking the soft swirls and twists of the other colors. The vibrant blue waves plan suicide missions, crashing along the rocks, always failing to dislodge their auburn strength. The sand streams furiously, burning the sky and clawing up the sides of those harsh, dark cliffs.

Lying against the furious, yellow of the burning sand, I feel ashamed. Not of myself, but of the fuming dunes that run the length of the beach. If they took a moment to open their hate-filled eyes, they would see the blended colors. Magnificence of colors as they blend. Harmony is possible. I know from the dark, mocha hand that rests in the middle of my haole back, playing with the pale blue strings of my suit. And the child, half chocolate, half vanilla, with just a touch of blue in her unbiased eyes. There is no place in her world for hatred based on color.