My very first day in the island, the sunset was magical. It was so intensely pink-orange beautiful that it made me blush. I felt myself literally blush, my flesh attempting to emulate the splendor it witnessed. It was as if the sunset was a gift from someone I suspected to be in love with me or I with them. My suspicion of being happy-in love with life got stronger, as did the suspicion that the feeling could be mutual.

I have not worn any blush since I got to the island. I did not bring any, to be sure, but the price tag of anything within the only pharmacy of the island ensured I wouldn’t. Everything is extremely expensive here, which makes sense given that we are so remote. The cost of cargoship transportation makes even the smallest of things, like razors, triple in cost compared to the continent. In many ways, this is a hardship. But in many others, it works wonders. I have washed my short hair with soap for months now and I don’t even have to brush it.

I made an early commitment to watching the sunset every day I could, over the water. I certainly did not keep the commitment, but I have been trying to go to the east coast as much as possible to do so. Not everyday is as pink-orange beautiful as that first time, but from time to time it is. And, regardless, everyday the clouds are different and they set up the stage differently for the final piece of the sun’s dance each day.

One day, I was in Anakai Tangata, a cave known and popular for its mysterious name and stories surrounding cannibalism, and I saw the most interesting of the sunsets. From this viewpoint about 30 meters above sea level, I watched the sun slowly descend. And when it was about 5 minutes away from the cover of the sea, a raging storm fell upon me. The sun over the horizon was still intact. In the next 4 minutes, the storm shifted to my right and front so that it hovered in the line of the horizon, to the right of the sunset. What ensued was a mind blowing separation of color. An intangible yet visible line separated the yellows and oranges and pinks and blues of the sea on the left, sharply from a black and white facsimile that replaced the sun with a curtain of rain.