For Cloud Mother it was the moment of parting. Fluffy young cotton balls that she had birthed danced around her as they prepared to leave home.
Cloud Mother was thinner now. Her shadow was growing faint.
Still, she was happy under springʼs warming sun, even as it destroyed her.
Her essence was needed elsewhere, over the far peaks, and in nightʼs chill she would be reborn.
Her darker mate was not through creating his masterpiece, flamboyantly but with sure taste. He wished to be defined by his grandeur.
With bold strokes he painted the sky with thick gray streamers and swatches of near black.
He roared, he threw flashing lances. Below, all cowered and shook as wind whipped the treetops.
Then, in his final act, he washed the world clean and birthed new life.