I watched her from my home in the sky, and worried that she wouldn’t notice me. How could she, after all, with her back turned and her eyes covered? Still, I crept across the sky, doing my work as she did her own. It often seemed that she had turned her back on everything – the water and the waves, and all the life therein, and I took some comfort in the idea that it wasn’t only me she held herself apart from. It still hurt, but it wasn’t personal, and that counted for something.
One day, my cousin the wind carried a whisper up to me. It was her voice, a quiet murmur, but still meant for me (the wind was my cousin, but they were serious about keeping secrets).
“I’m sorry to have been so solitary, old friend. I’ve been listening to these stories for so long, and they needed all of my attention. But I’m ready, now, to put them down for a while and share the joy of your light on the waves once more.”