The Sleepless Giant

Come here, my child. Don’t tread the snow in. Sit with your grandmother beside the fire on this cold night, lest we freeze. The frost has reached my bones and nothing warms the soul like a story retold. Did you know the waterfall beyond the trees was the first one to ever be? Have I not yet told you how it was formed? Well, it’s as good a story as any.

My grandmother would tell me this story on moonlit nights such as this, as did her grandmother before, and her grandmother before her. What’s that you said? You think I’m as old as time itself? Do not let my face, lined as the bark of an oak though it is, deceive you. Generations and civilisations rose and fell before I was even a pea in my mother’s belly and there are still some around here who think me quite young. Not many, but some.

Now where was I? Oh yes.

The sky was filled with stars the night Aeronwen couldn’t sleep. There weren’t yet as many stars as there are today. Many have joined the sky throughout time and each and every one has a story, but those are stories for other days and other nights.

Aeronwen was the giant of the North and she formed much of the world as we see it today. Most nights she would lie in the valleys and cradle the mountains as sleep came upon her. Not unlike how you hug your pillow as your eyes drift shut. The moss and grass was her down feather bed and the earth would sink beneath her weight. They say valleys that she lay in became all the deeper for it.

But on this night, and for no reason Aeronwen could conceive, sleep would not befall her. Over and over again she counted the stars until it brought her frustration. She wanted to pick them from the sky – if she couldn’t find solace in them no one else should – but they were too far away for even a giant to reach.

After an hour of lying in discontent she rose and stomped through the land. Each time her foot hit the ground the world trembled and animals scurried into their burrows to avoid being crushed. She scanned the horizon of shadowed peaks for something to entertain herself with and her gaze rested on the highest summit. It was a sharp and pointed thing. Aeronwen had tripped and cut her chin on it several times. She plucked it off the same way a child picks a daisy. She cupped the rock in her hands and moulded it like a baker kneading dough, like a potter molding clay.

The wound in the mountain gaped open and water, the blood of stone, spilled from it. It formed rivulets that threaded the mountain like external veins. Water holds the memory of the stone that bore it and it mourned the loss the mountain top and watched Aeronwen play with the ball she had made.

Aeronwen rolled the ball through the valley, tossed it up in the sky so she could catch it. But one time the wind caught it and it flung too far away and Aeronwen lost sight of it in the dark. It had rolled back to the mountain from whence it came. The water saw an opportunity to reclaim the stone.

The water rushed to the cliff edge and flung itself off. The fall turned the water a foamy white as it cascaded past the rough ridges of the rock face. It plummeted down and splashed as it struck the ground. The sound caught Aeronwen’s attention and she followed it until she saw the waterfall itself. She stared at it for a long moment. Before she had only ever seen water in the form of still mirror lakes or the ragged, roaring ocean. This was stardust falling from the night sky. This was liquid silver in a blacksmith’s forge. This is the waterfall we built our home beside.

Aeronwen was enraptured by the beauty of it and the water hoped she would remain distracted until it could drown the ball and hide it from her. But Aeronwen’s eyes travelled with the flow of the water as it pooled in the valley and caught sight of her toy. Even the racing of the pooling water wasn’t enough to stop Aeronwen from swooping in from above to capture it.

Some of the water clung to the rock and made it slippery. Aeronwen came close to dropping it but was quick to clutch it to her chest. The water wasn’t ready to give up. More rivers formed on the mountain’s freshly levelled top and flung itself off the edge with such momentum that it hit Aeronwen in the eye. The sudden sting of ice cold water made Aeronwen drop the ball to wipe her eyes.

Again, the water rushed to retrieve the ball, but Aeronwen kicked it away. It flew high above the mountains like a comet, before crashing down in some yonder valley. Aeronwen and the water raced to find it. The water carved paths in the valleys and Aeronwen jumped and scrambled over the mountains. Each of the rivulets joined to forge a stronger path and created rapids in the hope of tripping Aeronwen. But Aeronwen was swift of foot and thwarted all of the water’s attempts.

She at last found the ball on a grey pebble beach. Yet again, Aeronwen picked it up, thinking at last she had escaped the vengeful freshwater. But the river had descended to the sea and spoken whispers to the saltwater of its mission. Didn’t you know all water is one?

With each stomp of the giant’s heavy foot the ocean had quivered and pulled together, using the momentum of the quaking earth to gain in force. It rose and rose and rose and rose until it was as tall as Aeronwen’s chest and charged at her. It knocked Aeronwen off her feet and the sting of salt filled her nose and mouth and the pebbles of the beach tore into her back. Still she held fast to her ball. But Aeronwen was growing tired of this endless chase and just as the ocean was preparing a second wave she flung the rock straight up into the night sky with all the force she could muster. It went up and up and up and up until it became a silver coin in the sky and rolled to a stop. The giant and the ocean held their breath waiting for the eventual drop, but drop it never did.

At last, Aeronwen fell asleep there on the beach, weary from the unexpected activity of the night. But the ocean is eternal and knows no rest, so it remained watching the ball in the sky, plotting how to get it back.

Day came and Aeronwen woke and – with a yawn that rivalled the ocean breeze – trotted off to find some breakfast. The ocean had made no progress and the ball was no longer visible in the blue sky. So it tugged and turned, trying to sense the location of the lost mountaintop.

Night fell again and the navy sky set the backdrop to the glowing orb standing stark against the stars. The ocean swelled, willing to rise to meet the sky, but it only got as far as absorbing the beach. And again, day returned taking the ball with it. The ocean rested and tried again the next night and the next and the next.

Each day more water fell from the mountain, to join the river and descend to the sea. More mountains sprouted springs to aid in the reclamation of the stone. I’m afraid to say it has never come close.

And that, my dear child, is why water falls from the mountains to travel to the sea and dance with the moon.