Secrets have been known to cross paths with their rightful keepers.
In the ancient times of great content, it was quite normal for a secret to know where its keeper was at all times.
They walked the same steps, breathed the same air, thought the same thoughts, nearly seeing the world as one and the same.
Though perhaps there is something a little unsatisfying about being content because ambition slowly crept into the people’s hearts, sprouting ideas of possibility.
We began looking left when all signs surely pointed straight ahead.
And so it happened that secrets lost trust in their keepers as their paths drifted off into opposite directions.
Amidst the bleeding ties, the moment finally came for a wise leader to stand on the shore, feet barely touching the water, gazing outward upon the soft spoken kai, and choose the excitement of departure over his everlasting home.
By this time, secrets had taught themselves how to ride the wind in order to make certain their survival.
Some even followed in their keeper’s footsteps like innocent children often do and cast away from the shore in a spit of glee.
Most, however, knew the consequences that arise from ill-fated dreams and instead took refuge in the wind and the vines of their own birth-seeded womb.
One such vine happened to wrap itself around my arm while I was eating lunch in the park.
The shade is nice here, don’t you think?
There aren’t so many places to sit and eat under the shade. They all must be hiding from me.
Hiding from you? No. You look innocent enough. It is just a matter of knowing how to look.
She almost appeared human as she said these words. Her eyes reaching into mine, quieting the wind around us.
If you only knew my name, then I could show you what I know.
Or perhaps you could show me what you know and I can guess your name.
Few have asked, wind nodding with her eyes. Now allow my friend to lift you towards the skies.
What friend is this, of which he may?
Whisper Kahaukani and you’ll see his songbird sway. See your own wings raise. Sway with your arms. For now forget your heart, for your timeclock has been set and that you must forget.
Falling leaves off cycle’s trees, circling and circling, years passing in-between.
Where are we? I ask.
O’ you can see. This is a very special valley that can only be walked through by me. It exists where time does not. And not it must remain, but go on, hele, let your fragrance free. Nou ka ‘āina.
It was then my watch refrained. My timeclock still remained. Back to work again.
Too bad for sorrow some may say.
Not I though.
We’ll meet again in future’s fate, foreseen by future’s father’s past, intertwined in vine, lay scattered drifting towards the wake.
Who knew what secrets I was bound to wake?
As if pulled by virtue, the seeds I swallow, giving birth to the name she need not speak.
I remember her name. Her valley glazed in beauty’s mold, soundlight sprinkles dancing dust, laughing children young and old, dainty bubbles once foretold, bursting from the prudent falls.
Your word is as good as mine old man. I’ll become you if you like. Learn to feed the budding, blooming host, giving water to my seed of growth.
Yes, the valley we shall walk again, in the days that need it most.