ChamorroCheburashka
There is a boonie trail kept open by the grace of the jungle and the resilience of an old fence. A hole just big enough for someone to crawl through is hidden behind a rusted tin sheet and the shadow of an old alom tree. Then, follow the trail about a mile and take the second pig trail on your right marked by three small lati stones. After that, reports vary. Some say it takes an hour, five minutes, or even all day. But, everyone seems to agree it brings you to a very special limestone cove; a perpetually calm sea perfect for diving and fishing with the largest skip-jacks and brightest corals; everything from niyok to dagu line the cliffs with branches so heavy with fruit, they bend to your hand.
I had stood on top of a mountain. It had felt like a mountain. But, I guess it was more like a hill. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. Not the sunset, not the trees, not the grass. The way the chalky, ground stone crunched beneath my feet. It spoke to me, and warmed the wind. I think we were friends. Hard to say since the war. It is a graveyard now.