Once upon a time, long ago, the sky was a clear crystal blue. Every day, when the sun rose, the sky was pure blue no matter what time of year. No clouds in sight, and therefore, no weather besides sunny shine.
People wandered over the earth, thriving green all around, watering the plants as part of their daily routine. No rain would come to do the job for them. One day a couple went to the tallest tree and reached up to a knot in the wood. They had heard stories of a downpour from a watering can from the hands of the sun. The days of the past, when their ancestors could spend their days inside when there were grey shadows covering the blue.
They found a scroll beneath the wooden logs of the elders’ hut. Leading them to the tallest tree in the forest. They were instructed to knock thrice on the second knot in the wood.
Their names were to be made in history, passed down by grandparents to parents, and parents to children. Nephele and Gale. The painters of the weather.
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“Are you sure we should be doing this? What if it was a trap set out by the elders? Testing our morality?” Gale tried to subtly convince Nephele to leave the forest at once as he looked towards the setting sun nervously.
“Oh come one. This is exciting! And aren’t you curious as to what lies at the end of this adventure?” Gale shrugged in assent to Nephele’s words, admitting that maybe he was somewhat curious.
Reaching the tree that they knew to stand above all the others, Nephele reached up, standing on the tips of her toes, and knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“....Is anything going to happen?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ahhhhhhh!” The two of them jump and scream as the tree twists and turns of its own accord.
“Oh! Wow! What a long time it’s been! Oo, wait. Ah. Just a sec. Let me just…”
Crack!
An old branch, no longer growing leaves, falls off onto the ground. The couple who had jumped out of the way as it fell, stared with their mouths hanging open wide.
“Oh, look at you two. You’re so cute! Oh! And look at the sky, the sun, the—” The tree cuts itself off. Turning her eyes left and right. Up and down. “Where– where are the clouds?”
“The what?” Nephele and Gale ask in unison.
“The clouds. The beautiful clouds. Up in the sky. What makes rain and snow. And lightning and hail. The clouds.” The tree answers, confused.
“You mean like in the stories? Like the white and grey blankets?”
“The stories?! Why? Oh, dear heavens!” The tree exclaims, “Well, I guess the brushes were lost. Those irresponsible apes!” Shaking her head, leaves flow down to the ground making beautiful green piles. Water droplets from the watering earlier that day caught the sun’s rays like diamonds.
“Apes?” Nephele whispers to Gale, confused.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do now but enlist the two of you.” Turning down towards the cowering couple, she continues to speak. “My name’s Ashala, I’m a quaking aspen. I’m prepared to give you a gift. One that will let the stories you’ve heard become a reality.”
“I’m Gale, and this is my wife, Nephele.”
“Lovely to meet you. I’m so very sorry if I gave you a scare.”
“Oh, of course, you don’t need to apologize,” Nephele spoke while shaking her head and stepping forward, pulling Gale with her.
“Aren’t you sweet? Now, your gift.” Ashala’s branches began to glow a soft gold, and her leaves fluttered like fairies wings. “I shall make you a paintbrush each. Made of my wood and leaves, you shall paint the sky. You shall paint those white and grey blankets you speak of. You shall paint them differently every day and every night, making them move slowly and quickly across the sky. Day and Night. Gale, I grant you the day. Sleep when the sky goes dark and the stars shine. Let Nephele, to whom I grant the night, pick up where you leave off until the sun starts to peek over the horizon.”
As her branches and leaves twist and wove through the air, winding into the brushes that would be used for the rest of eternity, by Gale and Nephele, by those they pass the job onto when they pass, and by everyone who comes after and takes up the mantle. Gale and Nephele look at each other with awe and love in their eyes; they can’t wait to begin. Little did they know they would grow to resent Ashala and her beautiful sparkling eyes. Little did they see the manipulation hiding in her soft-spoken words. For, yes, the job of the clouds is important, but they understand why the supposed apes lost the brushes. They understand why they should’ve left the scroll where it was.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nephele and Gale grew to love the dusk and dawn. When the sun and the moon met. When the two of them would climb down from their perch of painting, and meet each other once again for a split moment in time. When they could look into each other’s eyes and their love for one another would wipe the sorrow from their body. They were given the opposite twelve hours. Night and Day. They go hand in hand but they’re never seen together. The End
People wandered over the earth, thriving green all around, watering the plants as part of their daily routine. No rain would come to do the job for them. One day a couple went to the tallest tree and reached up to a knot in the wood. They had heard stories of a downpour from a watering can from the hands of the sun. The days of the past, when their ancestors could spend their days inside when there were grey shadows covering the blue.
They found a scroll beneath the wooden logs of the elders’ hut. Leading them to the tallest tree in the forest. They were instructed to knock thrice on the second knot in the wood.
Their names were to be made in history, passed down by grandparents to parents, and parents to children. Nephele and Gale. The painters of the weather.
____________________________________________________________________________
“Are you sure we should be doing this? What if it was a trap set out by the elders? Testing our morality?” Gale tried to subtly convince Nephele to leave the forest at once as he looked towards the setting sun nervously.
“Oh come one. This is exciting! And aren’t you curious as to what lies at the end of this adventure?” Gale shrugged in assent to Nephele’s words, admitting that maybe he was somewhat curious.
Reaching the tree that they knew to stand above all the others, Nephele reached up, standing on the tips of her toes, and knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“....Is anything going to happen?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ahhhhhhh!” The two of them jump and scream as the tree twists and turns of its own accord.
“Oh! Wow! What a long time it’s been! Oo, wait. Ah. Just a sec. Let me just…”
Crack!
An old branch, no longer growing leaves, falls off onto the ground. The couple who had jumped out of the way as it fell, stared with their mouths hanging open wide.
“Oh, look at you two. You’re so cute! Oh! And look at the sky, the sun, the—” The tree cuts itself off. Turning her eyes left and right. Up and down. “Where– where are the clouds?”
“The what?” Nephele and Gale ask in unison.
“The clouds. The beautiful clouds. Up in the sky. What makes rain and snow. And lightning and hail. The clouds.” The tree answers, confused.
“You mean like in the stories? Like the white and grey blankets?”
“The stories?! Why? Oh, dear heavens!” The tree exclaims, “Well, I guess the brushes were lost. Those irresponsible apes!” Shaking her head, leaves flow down to the ground making beautiful green piles. Water droplets from the watering earlier that day caught the sun’s rays like diamonds.
“Apes?” Nephele whispers to Gale, confused.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do now but enlist the two of you.” Turning down towards the cowering couple, she continues to speak. “My name’s Ashala, I’m a quaking aspen. I’m prepared to give you a gift. One that will let the stories you’ve heard become a reality.”
“I’m Gale, and this is my wife, Nephele.”
“Lovely to meet you. I’m so very sorry if I gave you a scare.”
“Oh, of course, you don’t need to apologize,” Nephele spoke while shaking her head and stepping forward, pulling Gale with her.
“Aren’t you sweet? Now, your gift.” Ashala’s branches began to glow a soft gold, and her leaves fluttered like fairies wings. “I shall make you a paintbrush each. Made of my wood and leaves, you shall paint the sky. You shall paint those white and grey blankets you speak of. You shall paint them differently every day and every night, making them move slowly and quickly across the sky. Day and Night. Gale, I grant you the day. Sleep when the sky goes dark and the stars shine. Let Nephele, to whom I grant the night, pick up where you leave off until the sun starts to peek over the horizon.”
As her branches and leaves twist and wove through the air, winding into the brushes that would be used for the rest of eternity, by Gale and Nephele, by those they pass the job onto when they pass, and by everyone who comes after and takes up the mantle. Gale and Nephele look at each other with awe and love in their eyes; they can’t wait to begin. Little did they know they would grow to resent Ashala and her beautiful sparkling eyes. Little did they see the manipulation hiding in her soft-spoken words. For, yes, the job of the clouds is important, but they understand why the supposed apes lost the brushes. They understand why they should’ve left the scroll where it was.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nephele and Gale grew to love the dusk and dawn. When the sun and the moon met. When the two of them would climb down from their perch of painting, and meet each other once again for a split moment in time. When they could look into each other’s eyes and their love for one another would wipe the sorrow from their body. They were given the opposite twelve hours. Night and Day. They go hand in hand but they’re never seen together. The End
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