The other half

The tide was high in the morning; every morning through the week would be. The Old Man propped the bicycle up against the downed log that created a barrier at the Public Access. The long snake of a chain secured the bike. It was a nice bike, "A real upgrade for me," it was something that mattered to The Old Man. "More gears and an easier haul up the hills." He was a man conditioned by work, and movement, the bike had been Pe'aheke's, their son's. After years of stillness in the shed, where it's only movement was when The Old Man moved the bike mai kela pe'a a keia pe'a, from one border to the other, the bike and the man now enjoyed adventures. The morning trek to the beach with Lei'ohu on the crossbar would go down as one of The Old Man's finest memories.

The ride was mostly down hill but with a passenger The Old Man was challenged to keep the bike upright and moving forward. He made sure the girl was helmeted, and bundled her into a warm coat and two pair of socks beneath her rubber boots to keep her feet warm as well as keep her boots on as they traversed the fifteen minute ramble.

"All set my darlin'?" The Old Man knocked on the top of the matte black helmet.

"Roger that, Honey Man," that always killed him to hear his granddaughters ... his granddaughters call him by that endearment.

"How did I get so lucky?" he was mumbling, unconscious of the change in his voice.

"What did you say Tutu?" The helmet was a tad wobbly even with the extra layer of bunting which made it that much more difficult to hear things.

The Old Man leaned down to kiss Lei'ohu, "I said I love you, that's what!"

"Oh I know that Honey Man." The little girl wiggled on the crossbar, bouncing with the energy of a new day. "Let's goooo," she reached a stubby padded arm and gloved fist.

There was very little traffic on the wooded lane, but there was a stream of commuting humans in their trucks, hybrid sedans and SUVs. The Old Man stopped at the crossroads and waited until the line of headlights were a comfortable history. Crossing the highway, the little girl and old man made their way to the stretch of road that did travel down hill to the bay and the wetlands. It was the place called the Muliwai, the water's edge where stream water emptied, or filled, with ocean. The Old Man was taking his mo'opuna to visit the tides. But he was also hopeful about running into Jacob, the Gatekeeper (Link here to read medicine where Jacob has other names).

Some stories are meant to stretch and tack together like ends to a spider's web. In the wind a web will blow in seemingly aimless paths. A falling pine needle could attach itself; a falling limb could pull the web down completely; but sometimes, a web will find it's other half and then ...

The web continues. That is what The Old Man was hoping for as he peddled downhill to the Muliwai where Gatekeepers have always waited for the other half of a good story.

To look at Mo'o go here.