Listen to the trees , Ethan Lau

For those who live in the city, trees are often decorative, a reminder of what we once were, or even a form of compensation for the concrete masses. But for those who know how to look and care, they are beings born of the earth, carriers of life.

At 29, the man who strolls barefoot through downtown Honolulu, Hawaii, on a wooden board with wheels, seems oddly untouched by the virtualized lives of the West. Unreachable, Ethan, for that is his name, is too busy gazing at the treetops, untouched by the hypnosis of screens.

At 29, the man who strolls barefoot through downtown Honolulu, Hawaii, on a wooden board with wheels, seems oddly untouched by the virtualized lives of the West. Unreachable, Ethan, for that is his name, is too busy gazing at the treetops, untouched by the hypnosis of screens.

His GPS is none other than nature, and from tree to tree, he navigates, spotting those that will provide his meal for the day. Ethan knows them all, he brushes them with the back of his hand, sometimes speaks to them, and is always grateful for their offerings.

Once a professional skater, he grew tired of steel trophies and paper-mâché glory. So he left it all behind, with his shoes being the first to go.

Today, freer than ever, you will have to listen carefully to the trees of Waikiki if you hope to catch a glimpse of the now-reformed skater-turned-gatherer.