When we age, what was quirky cute becomes complex trails of meaning. One bakery sold me a white-chocolate coated donut pastry, shaped as a vagina with protruding vulva, slightly raised in outline, and, of course, with sprinkles. Texture counts. In my 20s, a blushy smirk is what I would give the moment and now paying $9 for the conceit makes me wonder, why?

One time I was walking across a wide Hawaiian countryside field, grass freshly mowed, after I sliced a banana stalk from its tree, carrying these 40 pounds or so of sweet fruit to install precisely on a swinging rope on the porch, a way to keep rats from eating before we humans do. I had other landscaping work, so I was continually walking back and forth across the aina (land).