Born violently of fire, the Kohala lava fields on the Big Island of Hawai‘i seem frozen in deep time. Having come into being through a long, violent process, they now rest quietly, their apparent serenity disguising the long ago upheaval that brought the entire island chain of Hawai‘i into existence from thousands of meters below the surface of the sea. These mangled, yet starkly beautiful expanses of ruptured earth embody the paradox of many contrasts — fire out of water, beauty in the midst of desolation, destruction that leads to the rebirth of life, and, above all, the inextricable linking of calm and chaos.

To visit them is to experience almost a suspension of time, a recognition of the smallness of one’s place and the brevity with which one passes through the universe.

Fields of Frozen Fire is based on a poem of the same name, written by the composer after a visit to Kohala:

This once fire lies silent.
Restlessly still.
Heat seeps from its pores.
Whispers. Echoes of its return.
In a different time.

Strange how I may stand here
and listen to its harsh beauty.
But only now.
Indifferent time.

Strange that I should stand here
in this place born many times of death.
On fields of frozen fire.