The old mythology, how the sky and the earth fell in love. How the sky would look down upon the earth’s rivers and forests, longing to touch, to hold, to love. How they would reach for each other, the earth by her mountains and the sky by his weather. A small conundrum that often circles my mind is the gender. The earth can be portrayed as a woman, soft and flowing, beautiful and sincere. It can also be man, rough and ragged, angry and intense. Now the sky, in my mind at least, has always been a man. He is bold and brash, sending off storms and making loud, dominating sounds. I understand people’s opinions may be different, and i’d like to know why. But first I must, really, finish my view. The sky often sends down ways to touch, often more painful than comforting to the earth. The lightning bolts he sends to love is received with pain. After centuries of this I can foresee contempt and hatred. The earth just gets tired of failed attempts, not bothering to make itself beautiful for the sky. Leaving charred forests and dried up rivers. The sky could turn to sadness, or more likely to anger. Lashing out on the sight he once thought was so gloriously wonderous. He may even turn his sights to new heights, looking toward the stars instead. This is a sad ending, but it’s an ending of possibility. A constant emotion that is found throughout history, and throughout life.