The Story of Air and Sky
 
Written by Janice Lynn Mather  
Illustrated by Diane Yee

 

Twice upon a time were two small birds, Air and Sky. Their story’s been told once before, and I penned it into the plum tree’s leaves and the corn-weed’s seeds and wove it into the folds of the clouds. Their story has been told once before – to me. Now I’m telling it to you.

Air and Sky didn’t like rules. They loved being free to fly as high as their names, and as if to remind the other birds and animals and little people of this, their feathers and eyes and beaks and feet were a lovely, heavenly shade of blue. For them, flying was effortless. They simply stretched their wings and the wind lifted them and carried them to the thickets where berries were most plentiful.

            In May, as you know, it rains for days on end. At first, the clouds are playful and rain gently. The pigeons bunch together and coo at one another, and the mockingbird parents take turns washing their feathers and underneath their wings, while the other parent warms the eggs in the nests hidden in places they have asked me not to reveal. Dogs and lizards dash between the drops and children splash in thin puddles. By the third day of rain, however, most of the birds and other sensible animals have grown tired of this excessive wetness and are snuggled in their hidden nests and burrows and homes.

Air and Sky were exceptions.

They stayed out to play and dip and dance and sing all day long in the rain. They splashed in the puddles and pecked at the beads of rain hanging from the tips of grass blades, and had a grand time ducking large drops, some of which were nearly as large as their heads. On the second day, the clouds began to rumble and grumble to warn of a real storm, and fewer children and birds and dogs and lizards came out to enjoy the water. But Air and Sky were still out, fluttering and dancing in the drops. By the third day, almost everyone was sheltering inside, safely away from the drops, which were becoming harder and larger.

Air and Sky were stubborn as a pair of stones. The clouds rumbled and warned, but Air and Sky pretended not to hear them. When the clouds muttered and growled louder, they splashed and bathed and chased beads of rain and nibbled berries, which, as we know, are tastiest when washed by rain.

But Air and Sky had eaten plenty of rain-washed fruit during the first day or so, and they knew it was the custom to leave a decent quantity of berries on the bushes. It is, as any clever bird will tell you, impossible to fly home after overeating, and leaving a few berries on the bush means that some will grow overripe and fall to the ground and their seeds will wash away to places where there are no berry bushes. Air and Sky knew this quite well, but they continued to eat and eat until it was a wonder that their little blue stomachs didn’t pop! Their bellies were as round as the berries, and their legs wobbled under the immense weight. Still, there were plenty of puddles to splash in, and they did so with as much rigor as their glutted bodies would allow.

           

“You two better get back to your nests,” thundered the clouds.

            “We like the rain!” chirruped Air.

“We like the wet!” added Sky.

            The clouds clattered again, sounding more like an order than a warning. But Air and Sky just fluttered and pranced as if they could not hear.

            “What do clouds know?” asked Air?

“What do they know?” agreed Sky. They pranced so merrily that they did not notice that the clouds were crowding together in an ominous gray mass.

            Suddenly the clouds ripped open. There was a great clap and an awful flash of white light that blinded them both for an instant. There was another awful flash, and another bang, and another and another and another! The clouds began to bellow furious things at Air and Sky, who became frightened, and finally opened their wings to try to fly to their home above the clouds. But the rain was far too heavy and thick by now, and they couldn’t go anywhere or see anything. “Please stop!” they cried to the clouds. “Please stop, we want to go home!” But the clouds didn’t stop, and neither did the awful flashing and banging and crashing and pouring.

The two frightened birds huddled under a large banana leaf. But of course, the mound under the banana tree was very soggy, and they both feared for garden snakes that live in such places. Those snakes are quite harmless to you and me, but are very fond of naughty blue birds.

            Nothing lasts forever, and the awful, angry rain was no exception. The banging became a clatter, and then a growl, then a mutter, then only the faintest whisper. And the pouring became a sprinkle, then a drizzle, then a spray.

The sun emerged and spread her rays over the nests and leaves and grass and berries, and the people and dogs and lizards and birds came out from their cozy dry homes. The girls played hide and seek with the boys, and the dogs pretended to chase the lizards, who eagerly went along with the game. The big-beaked black crows hopped through the drying grass and stretched out their tail feathers and spread their wings and lounged about like wealthy ladies, looking a bit foolish but enjoying themselves a great deal. Only poor Sky and Air were still huddled beneath their banana leaf.

            “What are you doing here?” asked a large brown garden snake. Normally, she would have delighted in making a meal of them but, in keeping with the mood, was instead sunning herself in a tidy coil. “Why aren’t you enjoying the fun with the rest of us?”

            “The horrible clatter! The awful rain!” cried Air and Sky.

            “Silly birds,” thought the snake, too contented to worry herself with the foolish pair.

            Long after the sun had warmed all the other animals, and dried up the excess moisture, and begun to nourish the seeds from the fallen fruit, Air and Sky slipped out from beneath the banana leaves. They had missed the magnificent games with the pigeons making nests in the people’s soft hair and the snake allowing herself to be used into a skipping rope with her pointy tongue tucked safely in her mouth (a very rare thing indeed) and the lizards and mosquitoes calling a truce for a few hours, and the flies keeping everyone cool with their quick tiny wings, while watching with their many eyes to make sure the heavy rains were certainly gone. Air and Sky felt very poorly when they came out from beneath the banana tree, very damp and very sad. Up in the sky was one—only one—tiny cloud, a small wisp turned pink by the sun, which was almost finished setting.

            “Didn’t the clouds warn you to fly home?” said the cloud. Air and Sky only looked ashamed. “Because you did not listen to the signs and orders the clouds, and because you are so fond of playing near the ground and not flying high to safety when you should, you may stay close to earth and enjoy yourselves down there.”

            And so their ethereal names and their beautiful sky blue feathers were taken away—they were given plain brown feathers instead. But because cloud did not like to be too harsh, she gave each bird a little bit of yellow on the chest, in place of the sunshine they had missed.

The other animals laughed at Air and Sky a good deal, so they stayed together, as they still do now when they pick at the berries and seeds in our yard. And they chirrup and call to one another constantly, always reminding each other to listen out, in case the cloud should start rumbling a warning. In part, this is to drown out the other animals’ laughter, but it sounds to us as if they are calling very nicely to one another, as your Mummy might call to your Daddy, or your sister would say nice things to her husband. They still do this today, the little lovebirds who used to be called Air and Sky. And now you know why.