On clear days in Kula, over the grassy ridge, br past the kiawe tree and a cloud-rippled headland, br we see the horizon where sky meets sea, br br where light touches the dark blue, br where sea and sky come together br in a line that marks the edge of the world. br br As a boy, I was told sea and sky never meet, br the horizon is an illusion of our vision br and the land where we stand, br br that there are miles of emptiness and clouds br between two intimate, familiar hues, br yet now I see there is no separation. br br The sky starts where the sea starts, br face to face, skin to skin. In the surf, br the sky curls within the arch of the rising wave, br br wind sculpting wave, sea weaving sky br in a constant curl, each around the other, br on the long, luxuriant rush to shore. br br Many are mistaken about the horizon, too. br The blue line bends too slightly to reveal br the round, yet when we seek the horizon, br br the gentle arc through every land and sea br leads us home. From here, our horizon br is a blue curve in a world that encircles us all.