The Siren's Call

Delta

    The first week of high school physics, I learned that a delta had another meaning besides the place where a river fanned out, formed an alluvial plain, and entered the ocean.  In fact, river deltas were named after the Greek letter delta (), which shape they resemble.  It’s kind of funny really, the arbitrary way we invent words.  If a corn broom had existed when the ancient Greeks first discovered river deltas, they might have thought to name a delta after a broom.  Instead of cruising up and down the Mississippi in high style aboard the Delta Queen, we might have found ourselves steaming up and down America’s greatest river aboard the Broom Queen, or, God forbid, the Witch Hunt.  But I suppose not.  As a nation our poetic sensibilities are a little more refined.  Heading into the Mississippi’s Broom, I’m sure our noble paddle-wheel steamer would have been named the Mississippi Sweeper.
    In physics, the delta () also denotes an increment, or change in a variable.  The passage of time for instance, is expressed as a simple mathematical equation.  If t1 equals the initial time, and t2 equals the final time, then the amount of time that has gone by, or change in time, is expressed as t = t2-t1.  In other words, if t1 equals two o’clock, and t2 equals three o’clock, t—the change in time—equals one hour.  The delta is used in physics anywhere it’s necessary to express a change.  A change in distance, a change in place, a change in time.  You would think the delta could also be used to express changes in ourselves.  Our age could be expressed as: y = current year - our birth year.  Our change in financial status could be expressed as $.  Our change in mood could be expressed as $ divided by y.  Or not.  Maybe physics and the economy and human emotions and moods just don’t mix.  It was a thought.
    Really though, it’s hard to imagine a river delta being called a broom, or anything else but a delta.  It is so aptly named as it is.  As time went on and the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet acquired the meaning of change, one looks more closely at the river delta and appreciates how well the Greeks and physicists chose.  A river delta is a place of great change.  It’s where fresh rainwater mingles with the ocean and becomes saline.  It’s where sediment is deposited and new land is built up.  It’s where wildlife teems and political boundaries end.  And it’s where water completes a cycle of evaporating over the ocean, raining or snowing down on distant mountains, torrential runoffs across continents and slow meanderings through river beds until it reaches the delta, enters the ocean, and begins the cycle all over again as water molecules in an ocean just waiting to evaporate.
    A few weeks ago, I knew how those water molecules felt.  I just wanted to evaporate.  But as I’ve undergone my own distance, and place, and moods, and I’ve seen the changes in Kip; I’m learning that life is a constant series of deltas.  We are always changing.  And while at some times life doesn’t seem bearable, that feeling will change.  I miss Linda so much and when I think of her I still can’t stop the tears.  But when I’m with Kip and Jonathan and having a great time or when I think about being at work and doing what I love there just aren’t enough hours in the day.  The riverboat that is my heart will go on, with or without me.  So I’d better get back on board.

 
Pele

    Pele first appeared as a plume of white clouds shooting into a perfectly clear sky from behind the broad ochre slopes of Mauna Loa.  The captain informed us that the clouds were not the eruption itself, but the violent steam explosions created when the molten lava entered the ocean, rapidly cooled and solidified into basaltic chunks that constituted America’s newest piece of real estate.
    “Century 21 probably won’t put it on the market for years, though,” Kip said.
    I chuckled.  “Location.  Location.  Location.”
    “You think?”
    As the plane circled around the northern coast towards Hilo, unexpected colors appeared that revealed the land to be not just the largest island in the Hawaiian chain, but also an artist’s palette.  Large splashes of auburn pigment in the center of the palette, that were Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, graduated into yellow farmlands, grasslands, and lush green valley notches in the coast, and finally into aquamarine and deep blue ocean waters.  Recent lava veins of jet black ran randomly down the sides of Mauna Loa.  Mushroom dots of white adorned the summit of Mauna Kea, and silky white angel hair waterfalls seemed to trickle or flow in slow motion down the coastal valley walls.  Nearing Hilo, millions of red, orange, yellow, and purple dots among carpets of green vegetation revealed themselves to be orchids, anthurium flowers, and ripening bananas.  Kip and I just stared out of our tiny window in awe.  His face next to mine.  His right arm around my shoulder for support as he leaned over from his seat in the middle of the row.
    “Sir, the plane is landing now.  I need you to sit back in your seat, please.”
    “Huh?  Oh.  Okay,” Kip said, not even looking at the flight attendant.
    Kip’s arm slowly moved across my back.  I felt him move away and sit back in his own seat, but I continued to stare out the window until the plane landed.
    When the plane came to a complete stop, and the tone sounded indicating it was permissible to unbuckle our seat belts, I turned away from the window.  Kip already had his luggage down from the overhead compartment, and was handing me mine as I stood up.
    “Let’s go, Bro.” Kip said.  “No time to waste.”

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