Once upon a time, the Sky fell madly in love with the Water. On calm days Sky could see they had a lot in common – perfect blue complexions, a penchant for collecting clouds, a mutual interest in birding – and he thought of clever things he might say once he got up the courage to speak. But Water was mysterious, which was part of her charm. Often, she flickered and rippled and shone, as brilliant as an angel, paying little attention to Sky. On the greyest days, Sky couldn’t help thinking he must be completely invisible to her. It’s like she doesn’t even know I exist he thought.
Sometimes, when he was feeling bold, Sky would skim a cloud across his great expanse – passing Water’s surface then turning back to look when he thought she didn’t see, admiring the way the cattails hugged her shores and taking in her scent on the breeze. She smelled of lilies and the green perfume of cypress, and under that, a secret muddy essence hinting at something deeper he couldn’t name.
Whatever it was, it was beautiful – wondrously beautiful – and he wanted it. In fact, Water was all in the world that Sky wanted. He became sick and consumed by his love for her. Water was all Sky could think about. If only, he thought, I could be worthy of her attention.
Every afternoon – always at that most brilliant time of day, when the sun feels for a moment like it will shine forever – Sky found his courage. Dressed in his finest, he moved slowly across time to the evening, and waited at the edge of the world for Water to cast a sparkling glance his way. But when Sky gazed across Water’s surface, he was so overcome by her beauty he could not speak – she was heaven itself: brilliant radiance arrayed in delicate silver clouds, over depths of purest blue shifting to orange and red and purple before his very eyes. It was all too much.
Sky wept for the beauty he knew he could never have – how could he ever be good enough? He turned dark with sadness and self-doubt, even as Water began to shine with opalescent light, her beauty deepening to infinity with millions of winking glowing stars.
Given over to despair, Sky stormed all night. He was sleepless, restless, lost in visions of Water’s perfect pools and memories of weighted fish swimming through the clouds in her unattainable eyes.
But little did Sky know, through the darkness, Water could feel his sudden electricity. She trembled and was moved by his low rumbling thunder. And, as Sky’s tears settled with the dawn, Water finally spoke.
“Hi there,” she said. “I see you here all the time. I’ve noticed you looking my way, but you’ve never said anything…”
Sky had never in a million years expected Water to speak to him first. He didn’t know what to do with all her attention turned his way, so Sky said the first thing that came to his mind. “I like your clouds. They look really good the way you have them arranged on your surface like that.”
“Clouds?” said Water, rippling herself contemplatively against the shore. “I don’t have clouds.”
“Of course, you do,” said Sky, confused, “Right there next to your beautiful lilies.”
“The lilies are mine,” Water agreed, “from floating petals to down deep where the fishes hide their secrets. And I have dragonflies and turtles and water snakes and willows. I’m very proud of them all. But no clouds. The clouds are yours; didn’t you know?”
Sky didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what to say.
I do love seeing your clouds,” Water added, with a sudden sunlit sparkle. “And feeling your warm light turned towards me during the day,” she continued. “And gazing up at your stars at night,” she added shyly.
“But none of that is mine. It’s part of you. It is all very beautiful, though.”
And that was all it took. Sky really looked at Water for the first time and realized the beauty he saw reflected in her fluid eyes was his own. In that moment, Sky knew he was enough.
Sky saw, far from being separate and alone, he and Water were connected all along. For it is Sky’s breeze that tickles Water’s surface, making her ripple and come to life. And it is she who fuels his storms. It is his sun that warms her depths, and it is her water that makes up his clouds. Water sings to Sky about her cascading depths, that he cannot see, and he speaks to her the staccato poetry of his stars, whose light she can feel but never know as he does.
Even now, they remember their connection. At the end of each day, and at the beginning, Sky and Water kiss on the horizon – an explosion of color before each goes about their day or gently settles into the dark.
Words and photo © Jaime Greenberg, 2022
