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| How it works: this depends on who you ask |
In the morning, the birds make the sun rise by their singing. “Time to get up and warm the sky, we are cold”, say the sparrows. The blackbirds argue noisily, “Not too hot, my eggs will cook”. The robin laughs.
Later, when it is warm, the trees shake their branches to make the wind, and cool the air. Out to sea, where no trees live, the water rolls over and over to make the wind. They push it towards the shore, where it meets the tree-wind, which makes the waves break. All the shorebirds run up and down, paddling in the warm water, job done for the day.
The sea is busy...it pulls the water down off the mountains, like a magician pulling flowers from his sleeve, while the waterfall holds up the cliffs so the fish can climb up. Or down.
When the water is all gone, the cows sit down in their fields to make it rain, and the sea whispers to the rain “come to me, come home”.
When the wind has cleaned the land, and the sun is tired of shining, the birds sing a lullaby and the hills open their arms to snuggle the sun down to sleep.
Then the flapping bats come in, carrying the dark like a big cloak and lay it over everything. The dark has holes in it – thousands of holes made by hundreds of biting insects, horrid wasps and evening midgies. But the cloak is not spoiled. These are the stars, the holes that let light shine through from the other world; the world of possibilities. The daytime creatures sleep, except for the woman who shepherds the clouds across the sky. While they sleep, new possibilities drip through the holes, ready to be found in the dew on the grass; or in your dreams.
The owl calls the moon, who may or may not come. Moons are always busy.
