Read this article in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi
Photos: Kamehameha Schools
Hāhālua, Wākiu, Kalamakū, Lauaʻe, Kuwā, Kāʻilialoha, ʻŪkiu. These are the names we were given before that curious day. They do not know that the forest calls us by a secret name only we can hear. “Thrive, ʻAlalā,” they cried before we were swept away to the mountain.
This place is quieter after the morning chorus. As the sun rises, boisterous songbirds dance in the branches while keeping their distance. As the clouds break, we soar over the canopy of ʻōhiʻa, lehua glistening with dew. Diving into the understory, we find the taste of pilo and hōawa which reminds us of our past home but taste somehow sweeter than before.
We have more friends to watch and talk to, those that dance in the leaves and skitter after the crawling things. There are no others like us here. Maybe one day that will change. I feel old, even though I know so little here and have much to learn.
These trees are sturdy, with voices ancient and grounding. We have found new ways to communicate with each other, taking in the new sights and smells and sounds. My feathers are lightening and my cyan eyes are changing to an aged earth. My legs are stronger. My wings spread wider. I wonder who lives across these wide valleys and deep blue sea. Perhaps we will fly there.
