The Tales Of The Sky

The Tales of the Sky
Long before clocks ticked and stars were counted, the Sky was a storyteller.
Each night, it spun threads of silver and fire across its vast canvas. Each day, it unraveled them, only to begin again.
But the Sky was not alone.
From opposite ends of the horizon walked two beings—one crowned in gold, the other cloaked in reds. They were not gods, though they moved like them. They were not opposites, though one burned and one glowed.
They were the Sun-Bearer and the Moon-Keeper.
The Sun-Bearer carried a moon staff, stolen from a dream, and an apple, from which blossom flowers grew no matter the season. The apple pulsed with the heat of questions never asked.
The Moon-Keeper held a sun staff, glowing with a quiet fire, and a book whose pages caught the wind like sails, filled with every dream never spoken aloud, and every truth forgotten.
Each day, they met at the edge of the world, where shadows turn to wind and light forgets its name. They would sit beneath the first tree—the one with no roots—and trade stories.
One would speak in colors, the other in silence.
They told of stars that cried when they were alone. Of rivers that ran backward when the world changed its mind. Of mountains that grew tired of holding up the sky. Of people who forgot they were made of light and dust and turned their faces downward.
And as they spoke, the Sky listened, weaving their words into constellations, into weather, into time itself.
That is why some clouds look like lions,
Why the stars seem to whisper names,
Why dawn feels like a memory, and dusk like a prophecy.
Because The Tales of the Sky are never truly forgotten.
They just wait to be seen.