The Cloudherd & The weaver of Rain

Stories rarely ever talk about the natives of the moon, the ancient tribes of moon dwellers that inhabit the darkest craters of the satellite. They are, indeed, hard to spot from the narrow window of a space suit. Let alone, from a regular telescope. They are alike the chameleons down on Earth, they can blend into any environment thanks to their hue-shifting ability and their ease to stay still until being free from sight.

They are not interested in quarrels nor fame. The moon dwellers are peaceful folk, industrious folk who enjoy moon-baths and keeping sheep. Of course not ordinary sheep, galactic sheep. The sort of sheep one would want to tend to. Because from the wool of these sheep, the most amazing tapestries are made. Some form the landscape of planets like ours, others make up the range of colours infused in worlds and stars.

The moon dwellers are the proud guides of galactic sheep. Indeed, not a bad job even in days of supernova explosions. They get to witness some of the most breath-taking moments of the History of the universe in their strolls, which can take them to the farthest corners of the galaxy and beyond. They go anywhere where there is good pasture. If you ever wondered what is dark matter, or the dark space between the shine of stars, well that is the sheep grazing meteorites and cleaning up the meadows of the universe. Someone’s got to do it.

However the sheep are extraordinary in their own right. You see, they can fly. They are a bit lazy in that regard and need an extra push from the moon dwellers to get going but once they take off, they are unstoppable. 

The trade of a moon dweller is a secretive matter, only passed from generation to generation with exquisite precision. There are special activation points to press on the sheep to get them in motion. In the end, it comes down to an intricate and long… massage. Yeah the sheep love back rubs, neck rubs, all kind of rubs really. And the only reason for which they even bother flying is that they know, it is the best way to get a full-body massage on a daily bases.

Once the activation process sets off, the shepherds align the sheep in close formation, wool on wool as they say, and the sheep begin to run. The wool keeps them so light so light that, in a matter of seconds, the whole flock flies and becomes a cloud.

It was not always like this though. There was a time when there weren’t any galactic sheep nor cloudherds,  there was a time when the universe was a hot boiling mess and meteorites impacted over planets so often that most life could not progress.

Back then, Nut, the lady of the Sky, could not get any sleep with the constant noise of clashes and explosions around her. At bedtime, she tried to empty her mind of all things. Noise down. Black holes gone. Red dwarfs off. And began to count sheep.

Some days she could count to a million sheep before she finally fell asleep. Most days she lost count. Thirty-one sheep, thirty-two sheep, thirty-four sheep… And off it went. The thirty-third sheep had escaped her mind and became free. This is how the first wild galactic sheep were born. From the drowsy miscounting of a tired queen.

Pretty soon she had miscounted so many that she had a huge flock of wild sheep roaming around and no one to keep an eye on them. Luckily the moon dwellers became fond of the fluffy creatures and volunteered to be their caretakers.

On her part, Nut also gave each of her seven daughters a celestial chore. Everyone had to help out to ensure a fresher, tidier and, mostly, decluttered open Space. Things turned for the best from there on. Nut could catch a good night sleep while her daughters kept the universe calm and mellow.

Zhinuine was the youngest of the seven. She was quite shy and avoided the spotlight of the celestial bodies as much as she could. Instead, she looked after the lakes, the rivers and the waters of the worlds. Kept them from drying, ever-flowing with her songs of rain. She spent the nights knitting galactic wool until it became rain clouds. Plump and heavy with water. Ready for a storm.

One particular night, she had more wool than she could possibly knit and decided to lay down on a nice looking pile for a bit. Oh how soft it was. Every touch, a caress. She was drawn to its smell of fresh grass and cinnamon. She let herself sank and, before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

Baaaaaaaaa. The bleating cry of sheep woke her up. There was a young cloudherd shearing the sheep nearby. He carried on as he had been taught: massaging the sheep until they became sleepy and cuddly and then with the precision of a surgeon: clack clack clack. It was hypnotizing to watch him unburden the furry creatures. Every now and then he looked up and asked her a question. Do you also weave hurricane clouds sometimes? – he wondered. Have you ever travelled inside one? He was quite the curious cloudherd, she thought. In this way, many nights passed by in the warm comfort of galactic wool and a good conversation.

Nights gave place to eras. And still, the cloudheard and the weaver of rain met every night in their secret spot down the deepest crater of the moon. They were in love. Seeing how steady things had become, the lady of the sky granted them their wish. To spend the very ever ever after with each other. That is until the universe ceased to expand and finally collapsed.

Nut presented the cloudherd a very special gift to welcome him into the family. She had turned his sheep into stars. It was a sight to behold: the young starherd guiding his flock of stars towards the skies.

But new love is all-consuming. Like a sun-sized pacman devouring everything on its way.

And soon they forgot about anything else except themselves. The skies were dirty with galactic droppings everywhere, the clouds were dispersed and too scattered to bring any rain. The rivers began to dry and star dust covered the surface of the moon.

It was simply unacceptable. The whole planetary system was thrown into blissful chaos. Nut was torn between the lovers and the universe. But in the end, she was the lady of the sky. It was her celestial duty to safeguard every single part of it and not only her own family. With this in mind, she broke the union at once which left a great tear in the sky. The Milky Way, the new grand river of stars.

In one side was Zhinuine and far far away, on the other shore, was the cloudherd without his flock.

For all his starry sheep were now part of the grand scheme of the Milky way and its ghosts. The lovers spent their lives trying to cross. But the more they tried, the bigger the gap grew until it became the huge shiny path of comets we now know so well.

One hot summer, Nut found herself sleepless again. She gazed upon the beautiful river and its shores, where the bright current of stars was sweeping news to the lovers.

Small whispers to remind them of the time, passed and gone, when they were still young. Nut began counting again. But this time, she did not count sheep. She counted magpies with elegant feathers of electric blues.

One magpie, two magpies, four magpies… She smiled and miscounted enough magpies to create a fleet. The free magpies took flight and aimed towards the shores of the Milky Way. One by one, they aligned while flapping their beautiful wings. In a moment, it looked like there was a new bridge on top of the Milky Way. A moving bridge of magpies suspended in the air.

Every year, in those days when the heat of summer drags through the night, we can see the perseids fall. They are the feathers lost on the flapping of wings to create a suspended bridge. They look just like shooting stars.

And when we see one, we know, that for a moment the two lovers have managed to cross the bridge and, finally, embraced.

Inspired by the chinese legend 牛郎与织女. Some say Zhinuine -named in our story- represents the star Vega and the cloudheard the star Altair. On the 7th day of the 7th lunar month, supposetly when the bridge is created, the two stars come the closest of all year.