What was, and is, and could've beens Part 1

"Honu is known by many names, and countless stories begin with her and her shell. This bit of medicine could not be told without her." Hi'iaka fondled the soft pouch, the contents softly rattling like stones rolling, tumbling at the ocean's edge. Pale relaxed into the soft sound, entranced, a lullaby reminding her of the music Trees make when the wind blows through. The old witch teetered, and came to rest like a girl at her kindergarten desk. Instinctive movement. Arms crossed. Hands a pillow. Nap-time. Yes, that was it. Her breath released deeply. Sleep and dreams took her quickly.

"Somaia of the South had lived more than two hundred cycles and in his sphere of the Cosmos, his age and experiences were valued as an elder. His quiet presence was delightful, and Oona’s twins were especially taken by the old fisherman’s talent for spinning. At least that is what the two young girls called the thing Somaia did with the fine threads that drew from just below his bill, high in the chest of the salmon-colored Wood Crafter of the Islanders. Seated on a large flat stone the two girls and their quickly adopted uncle, Somaia of the South spun and wove intricate patterns of netting in a size that perfectly fit the small spread of the girls’ present talon’s grasp. “Spin me one like a swallow also, Uncle Somaia,” Glenda with the braid of golden feathers like her mother cried.There was no end to the salmon one’s patience. He was born to entertain and satisfy the needs of little ones, and as if Fate had finally approved a second chance, Freeilll Noa’s loyal friend seemed to have found grand-children to love. "

Pale found herself listening to a story. Looking around she could not find the storyteller. A disembodied teller? A magical presence. Anything is possible in dreams. She looked down to see herself much changed. She was Bird with feathers the same color as the purple Rose of Sharon. At this point Pale was not sure how large a bird she was, but, it made no never mind. She was a bird. Pale kept her place and listened.

" Oona found Somaia perched on a limb bobbing gentling above two golden heads circled peacefully into their soft, downy wings. The twins were napping, the sun’s light soft in the skies of Ever. The old man dosed with the swaying motion, resting from a day that had until today, been a vision of unrealized possibility. A contentment and satisfaction glowed from the old man rendering him a different man, a younger version of himself. Oona felt herself tingle with an emotion she found unexpected: fondness or perhaps something growing beyond it. Raising the twins since the passing of her mate shortly after Glenda and Glennis were four cycles had not been difficult. Wood Crafters complemented the care of young without a second thought. No young ones were without frequent and regular touching, unlimited exposure to joy, laughter and song, and encouraging the graces blessed upon each unique soul. Still, her feminine nature enjoys the attraction of a graceful male and there was something very appealing about the red-feathered male now softly snoring in the branch just above her daughters.

The teller's voice was familiar. "You recognize it, don't you?" A large Bird, one of a size she'd never imagined possible stood at her back. She felt it before she saw it.

"I do. I was thinking how familiar the voice is."

"It is your voice Pale of the Borders. It is you telling the story of a small orange bird from the oceans of your Ancestral Past. In the innocence of a daytime nap, this story will take you in and through many times. I wonder? Did you bring the magic?"

Pale wondered whether she did. Being a Purple Bird seemed a good trick. But the storyteller was undeterred from the question. "The safety pins. Did you bring them?"

Ahhh, well some things remain unchanged. "Of course!" Pinned to her honeycomb mask. In place of the mask Pale felt ... a beak. Dangling from the feathers around her head was the orange thread and scalloped shell she wore around her head. The shell was secured with a safety pin. She answered, "I have one pin."

"Very good. Then one is just the right number. And yes, you are telling this story and it will stretch your talent for kaona in ways your ancestors will sing about in the past. Make no doubt about it. Didn't some wise human say something about having learned everything he ever needed to know in kindergarten?" Pale felt herself jiggle. It wasn't a giggle or a jitter, but it was a jiggle and that was something new. A great way to start a new story.

"Or, connect an old one in a new way." The Voice was laughing. Pale loved that she knew what that laughter was bred from. Hmmmm. She had always loved kindergarten, and Mrs. Quon.