11
Uncle Kahana’s Heart
Makule
Old; aged.
Hiking to the bottom of the hill, we wound our way through low lying ferns and under kukui, hala, and hau trees, the sound of Jay and Char Siu’s slippahs snick, snick, snicking through thick sticky mud. In my shoes, I paid attention to where I stepped, choosing matted dead leaves and fallen branches over suspicious bare dirt. We walked for a while, always moving toward the sound of rushing water, until Nu‘uanu stream appeared down a gully on our right.
I was glad to stop for a moment while Uncle Kahana pretended to check that we were going the right way—after all, there were only three ways to go: up the hill in front of us, around it to the left, or back the way we came. Even Jay looked a little tired. Surfing was definitely easier than hikin
