In the heart of the Pacific Ocean are some beautiful islands
- points of green that arise from the dark blue depths. One of these islands is
called Oahu which in Hawaiian means "the gathering place". It is well
named for it is the home of many.
Among the people that lived on Oahu in times long past was
an old man named Koae and his grandson Keola. Koae was a kahuna, a man of God,
whose wisdom and love for others was well known. Koae loved many things - the
sparkling curtains of rain falling on the dark green mountain valleys, and the
roar of the rollers breaking over the reef, the bright orange and red hibiscus
blossoms that framed the still brighter smiles of the graceful island women,
and the sound of drums and chanting on quiet moonlit nights.
Most of all, Koae loved to sit on the beach with his
grandson Keola, and as the sun set he would tell stories of long ago - stories
that had been told by his grandfather and his grandfather before him.
The sun had dropped below the horizon, that distant place
where sea and sky meet, but its rays still pierced the ocean's edges with beams
of orange and crimson light.
"Look, my son," said Koae, pointing out beyond the
reef. "It is Koae, the tropic bird, coming home from the sea. It is for
him that I am named."
"Grandfather, please tell me of Koae," said Keola.
