He splashed her singing in the sunshine as she planted her flowers, weaving some of the blossoms into a headdress where they wiggled as she moved in the breeze, mesmerizing, fascinating. He was water; she was earth multiplying and rooting seeds within her rocky, but friendly breast. She was a beautiful planet, a world unto herself, gliding through her paces in her place in the starlit universe, draped in blue, white, green and brown, innocent and unbroken. If only she could have stayed that way, listening to the music of the spheres, praising from the heart of her a never ending song.
“Enumerate my children,” she cried. “So many you have never seen shaped to infinite size both large and small, all, all of you my children. Each giving way to the next in the dance of creation. And now you, my human children have wounded me in my side, poisoning my lover water and killing my sea children and bird children and soon, soon, even yourselves in your rush to be the first of my children to consciously choose the hour of your own departure. You will leave me riven and macerated; what will be left of me when you are gone? I, I who have given you all I had in the miracle of my own creation and placement in this amazing universe.”