Only so much truth

The afternoon breeze was late. Scanning the opaque sky for a promise of clouds from either mountain range there was neither wind nor chalk mark. Without saying, Percy disappeared between the fully visible notion of Rabbit and the in between place of ghosts and the universe's undulating hips of myth. 

. . . . .

"Somewhere before or after we make that promise to manifest solid, there is the waiting room, and so many corridors," Percy had many stories about where he went at these times and how all of us on Haumea find our place here. His favorite explanation always connected to trees. "It's really more like tapping into the roots than disappearing. All those tales you humans love to tell about our rabbits holes are only" -- he twitched his prominent nose -- searching for the words, "only so much truth. "To be a familial (as in familiar) to you we have to be very good at patch-working. The Trees are excellent at patching and messaging need. Support and association. Trees help each other, especially family trees. Same family. Oak to oak, and Fir to fir. But there are inter-tree help, too."

I loved how languages felt meanings. Human science named tree's telepathy of woven messaging as mycelium networking my mother's people call that pilina -- associations, or mana papalua -- meaning hiding in the shadows.  Pilina is one of those words that anchors me to the bone when a slough of sentences attempts trickery." Percy got that and hankered for knowing my family then asked, "What about the other?" "Mana papalua?"

"Hmm, that one is the kind of meaning you ought to understand without thinking. Maybe you feel the thump from some chief buck sending you a warning or your smeller catches an off-smell. Doesn't that swirl immediately into your belly to tell you something even when you can't see it?"

Percy's ears began twitching just before he slipped between. Nodding his head I felt him leave as his voice slid down my belly ...  "I'd of loved knowing your mother, and your grandmother. Don't imagine Pacific Island folks had much to do with my family. Lapine the language or us Rabbit didn't spread that far. We didn't hop the canoes, or seed our genes on the winds to pollinate there. Probably just as well we weren't invited, we tend to over-graze. Your ancestors had other ideas, and we like the heat." 

 

The silver-haired man with the matching beard had his oars in the late afternoon ripple of Salish Sea. While I was lost in my thoughts and rumination about disappearances the wind and clouds had conspired. The breeze was back and so too would my two friends. I rolled toward the soft foam cooler and fished out the second course. Sandwiches on crispy sour dough. Sliced ham and aged white cheddar. Percy preferred not to eat meat, he wouldn't mind missing out on sandwiches.

I pressed PLAY on my iphone ...