Shiny affluent puddles into dancing silver shadows. Plastic wrapped for eternal damnation, mankind’s waste spills, mixing on nature’s innocent lap.

Where does it go? Into the vast, welcoming bosom that nurtures those named Pacific Islanders. The rocky shore hungrily gnaws at the ocean, fervently craving more for the coming year. Meanwhile creamy stones mark the absence of folly.

A sweet forest of lemon-lime hooks is home to languidly spilling droplets-suspending, pooling, thoughtfully waiting for their turn in the life cycle. What a poignant reminder that hopeful life continues.