In the ages of yore, a sky ogre, becoming jealous of the day, transformed himself into a great cloud and, gliding stealthily through the high air, swallowed the sun whole. As he slowly digested the heavenly orb, the Earth below became dark and dismal until nighttime seemed to reign the hours in perpetuity.
The men of Earth, fearing for their futures, sent an emissary to appease the cloud and plead that he might release the sun, if only for part of the time.
“And what shall I receive in return?”, demanded the cloud.
The emissary thought hard for a while until a notion occurred to him and he said,
“If you allow the sun’s release for part of the day, we will honour your name in a great book made exclusively for this purpose.”
The cloud considered the offer for a moment and then asked, curiously, “What name?”
The question shocked the emissary as he hadn’t an answer to hand, but he wasn’t anything if not quick of mind, and so he explained,
“Is any name enough for one as eminent as yourself, sir? Surely, we would honour you with many names, each befitting your many natures: there shall be high Cirrus, and broad Altostratus, and elegant Cumulus, and bold Cumulonimbus, and…”
“Wait!”, screamed the cloud, “What are you suggesting? Those…names!”
“Do they not please, sir?”, asked the emissary growing nervous. “Are they not honourable enough”
The cloud curled itself around, self-consciously, and grew slightly redder.
“Well,”, it said, “I was thinking…. of some names…. a bit like Sith, or Neff, or Porr. Something like those. Memorable names; simple ones as the sun, the sky, and the moon have!”
The emissary thought hard and fast.
“But, your honour, are you not greater than the sun you’ve consumed? And as for the moon, well… An eminence as yourself, my lord, deserves the greatest of names, the longest of names, and, clearly, the most obtuse of names, to be both scholarly and divine.”
The cloud considered this and, growing increasingly flattered, finally agreed and spat out the sun into a clear portion of blue sky. It then regarded the emissary below,
“Go on then, man, go and write the book!,” he insisted.
And so the great book was bound and the many names inscribed therein and that is why few men remember, or even know, the names of clouds now, whereas even a child knows the sun, the sky and the moon. Yet a deal has been made and is appropriately honoured, and the sun is set free for some of the day, or until the cloud deems it is time enough and devours it some more.
Written for Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo #writephoto prompt.
photo provided by Sue Vincent.
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;” said Shakespeare through Juliette.
I am, it seems, still stuck on the issue of the naming of things. If, I wonder, a rose was called a pig, would it smell as sweet? The subjectiveness of taste, the prejudice of association, the scepticism in the face of a simple truth – who knows? Maybe the pig would become the ideal house pet.