The sharp rough wood grain sitting below me was lifeless, yet it was produced from life. Its grains were smooth and elegant as the various shades of brown spanned several feet. Even though the wood looked smooth to the touch it was jagged and sharp, with splitters pointing out at every spot, almost as if the splinters were the wood's teeth, ready to to cut and poke anyone weary enough to sit on it. Every once in a while in the planks a jagged hole was gaping open that led to a dark pit of dry dirt and spots of wet mud. The wood was old and fragile and creaked at the slightest movement, just me breathing in the warm humid air was enough movement to cause a shrill scream from the wood. At the foot of the wooden planks were steps just as worn out as the planks. The steps only consisted of what should have been four planks yet the third one was caved in, as all that remained was the sharp edges of broken wood. This cacophony of wood was nothing but a worn out porch of a house.

 The house was a typical nuclear family two story home. The house was like an old lady desperate for attention, trying to stick out with her vibrant makeup. The walls of the house were painted sky blue with what seemed like blotches of brown, but that was just the undertone of wood as the paint chipped away. There was a looming shadow over the front of the house as a white canopy encompassed the mid way point of the house. Connected to the canopy were these white support pillars that were more on the grayish tone of silver. The top of the house was the very same as the bottom except for two small windows that peered into a dark upstairs and the attic. To cap off the house was a dark gray roof that was once white but gave in to the everlasting rain and tropical storms of the area. There were tiles missing every couple of feet and their soulless remains could be seen shattered into pieces off to the side of the house. Even though the house could have barely been considered a functioning home it was well inhabited inside. Every inch of the innards of the house was covered in dirty brown shag carpets. One step on these carpets could have been soaking wet and the next would cause a bone shattering crunch.

 When sitting on the porch, the door to the house was always open to let in the nice breeze of the outside air. You could see the beginning of the endless carpet right past the barrier into the house. 

There was a small murmur of noise coming from inside the house. This steady stream of noise and banter would be interrupted by an abrupt screech. The murmur would then change tone. The murmur would and was any emotion  possible, one minute it was comically joyful and the next it would be a wrathful intimidating voice, it could have been a sorrow filled mother after losing her child, it could have been a man pleading for his life after being condemned to death or could a been as quiet as a field of flowers. Yet this stream of noise that radiated life was not living at all. It was a brown perfectly square box fitted with a screen tightly in the front of the box and hte back of the box protruded several inches farther than the front of the box. It was nothing but an old T.V. from the early 1980s. It had black antennas sticking out from the top as it received hundreds of channels of cable television. The T.V would stay on for what seemed like all day all night, everyday of the week. But since the television was inside of the house it was nothing but a subtle murmur on the porch. 

Instead overwhelming the murmur of the T.V. was what can only be described as rhythmic sloshing back and forth. The sloshing was accompanied by a smell that would fill my lungs. The smell was pleasant, yet gross. It is relaxing to some but creates fear in others. It was the salty smell of the ocean as it repeatedly hit the wall of rocks a couple dozen feet away. I always loved and hated the ocean, it's an endless mass of blue that goes one for hundreds and hundreds of miles, yet I could only see a few miles out. It was hard to tell if the ocean was blue or white, as the giant waves made it seem white yet, when huddled together it was blue. The ocean instills a feeling of calmness and fear at the same time. The ocean creates a feeling of calmness as the waves hit the jagged wall of rocks that would impale a person and yet it keeps hitting the rocks, as it pulls in and out, over and over. An endless cycle that will keep repeating, even after I am gone. The ocean moves as if it is a living thing. It pulls in and fills in every crevice in the jagged black rock wall, and creates a loud slam from its freezing bombardment of water droplets, it gives precious life to everything around, and in it. It is truly a mystery of what is beneath the surface of the deep blue sea, as all that I can see are the melodic waves washing over each other as far as the eye can see, the ocean stretches so far that it merges with light teal sky on a horizon that is practically undefinable, and all I can do is ponder, while I sit on the ragged porch. The ocean is the source of life itself, but no matter which way I look at the ocean, it is lifeless, just like the porch, just like the house, and just like the T.V.. As a person I can characterize these things with life and perceive them with qualities of people, and use in depth details to breathe life into them, yet they are nothing but lifeless, and areas like this lonely house on the coast of Hawaii, makes me truly think about, what is life.