It is blue because we did it. Bled the sky in faith that rain was what we needed. Once we realized death was required to create, we paid the price of hope. So, the sky is blue. An echo of the bruises of our existence. As every baby stretches skin and leaves a mark, so too we exist within sacrifice. So the sky is blue. And it's fuckin beautiful.

In the beginning, the sky was nothing but darkness, an endless void that stretched on for eternity. There was no light, no color, and no life.

But one day, the great Sky God, Arion, decided that he had had enough of the bleakness. He longed for a world that was full of light and color, a world that was alive and vibrant.

So, Arion called upon his children, the gods of the elements, and tasked them with the mission of bringing light to the sky. The gods of fire and air were given the responsibility of creating a brilliant, blazing sun that would light up the day. And the gods of water and earth were tasked with creating a magnificent moon that would shine at night.

Together, the gods worked tirelessly for many days and nights, creating the sun and the moon and placing them in the sky. But something was still missing. The sky was still dark and lifeless.

Then, the youngest of the gods, Aria, had an idea. She took the purest and brightest of all the elements, the color blue, and mixed it with the air. She then blew the blue air into the sky, filling it with a brilliant shade of blue.

And as the blue color spread across the sky, it lit up the world with its beauty and grace. The sun and the moon danced across the sky, their light reflecting off the blue, creating a magical spectacle that filled the hearts of all who beheld it.

And so, to this day, the sky remains blue, a testament to the hard work and creativity of the gods, and a symbol of the beauty that can be found in even the darkest of places.

This tale is not about why the sky is blue, for that is the true myth; that the sky is blue. It is not.This is the story about how the sky came to be called blue.

Civilization (as opposed to yet-to-be-civilized cultures who just have words for light and dark, as they should) has come to accept the assertion that the sky is blue (and that heaven is somewhere in the ether - also a myth.) But it is blue in the same way colorful pieces of paper have value in exchange for goods and services, or sparkly pieces of hard rock are precious and priceless: collectively, we make it so.

Why? Because the reality is terrifying. If we saw what was really there, the challenge of living would be a near impossible undertaking. As it might have been for the ones who came before the Bluing if it were not for the Wise Ones.

Once upon a time, the Earth was young, and life upon it was new. As was death. But as the millenia passed the crystal clear view of all that is above us - the moon, the stars, our Sun, began to change. It gradually became more opaque, but the change was so slow it was unmarked by those who roamed the Earth. Until a little known stargazer, Melatonym son of Sunit, noticed something unusual about the growing haze present even when clouds were absent. It hummed. Or, as he described it, it moaned such a sound of utter despair as he'd never heard.

He took his concerns to Teacher, an Elder who was also one of the Wise ones.

"Teacher, there is something wrong with the sky. I fear the gods are sad or angry. I hear such sounds of grief and anguish when I lay on the hill to gaze upon the stars at night."

"It is only the wind."

"Perhaps, but usually the wind howls like the beasts; it does not moan and weep."

"Your imagination is wild like the birds, Melatonym. Calm yourself. I will join you in your stargazing this eve and name the beast for you."

And thus it was that the Wise became aware.

Teacher and Melatonym climbed the nearby hill and lay upon the ground to study the stars and listen to the voices of the night.

"Teacher, do you hear that?"

Teacher was silent for he not only heard, he saw, and what he saw turned his blood to ice.

"Teacher?"

Teacher stood and reached out a hand to Melatonym. "As I thought, it is but a wolf weeping the loss of her cubs."

"What of the haze?"

Teacher looked up. "Wisps of cloud. Nothing more." Patting Melatonym on the shoulder he said, "Look!See how brilliantly the red star shines tonight."

Lost in admiration of the stars he loved, Melatonym remained oblivious to Teacher's unease.

A council of Elders was held within three sunrises.

"I have news."

There was murmuring amongst the nine.

"Have any of you noticed the sky is losing the clarity to which we are accustomed? Not the clouds that bring coolness when the sun's rays burn, and water that gives life to the fields. Something...new."

"Is it not just wisps of clouds?"

There were nods of agreement.

"Come with me this night and you will understand."

And so it was.

"It cannot be!" Each elder exclaimed in a horrified whisper.

"But it is," replied Teacher.

"We must petition the gods; this cannot continue."

"Men will become crazed when they realize..."

"Do not speak of it here! Words have power," said Teacher.

The Elders descended the hill in silence and walked without hesitation to the Cave of Prayer where they lit torches to light the way to the Room of Glass and Flame. Placing the torches in holes carved into the walls for that purpose, they sat upon the warm stone glass floor, heated by sources hidden from men's eyes.

Teacher looked around the circle. "We must seek proof before taking action."

"In your respective regions, seek to witness the death of innocents as well as the death of old men. Particularly, seek those with reputations as evil doers." He paused, glancing around the circle.

"Breathe not a whisper to your acolytes, nor, and especially, to the ignorant who seek your wisdom and guidance. We must confirm our suspicions. Then, we will act."

Bowing their heads, they began to chant as one, invoking the support of the deities in their quest for truth and beseeching them to guide their subsequent efforts.

"We will meet here at the next full moon."

Several sunrises later, Teacher was called to the home of Myria, daughter of Feelan, wife of Daggart. Daggart, a wealthy merchant, wanted Teacher to witness the birth and bestow blessings on his newborn child. Thus it was that Teacher was present for the first and last breath of the unnamed infant. As well as of the Lyssia the Birther, beheaded by Daggart, as was his right, for failure to ensure the infant's safe passage into the world. And of Myria, also beheaded by Daggart for having delivered her third child unable to survive one circle of the Sun.

In a matter of moments, Teacher's hypothesis was proven. He left Daggart to deal with his dead and walked to the hill to weep.

At the next full moon, the Council of Elders met in the Room of Glass and Flame.

"Is there any among you who has not seen the truth with his own eyes?" Teacher's question was met with unanimous, silent shaking of heads.

"How could the teachings have been so wrong?" said one.

"How could the gods be so unkind?" said another.

"It is not our place to question the gods," replied Teacher in a firm but quiet voice. "And who are we to wonder why the essence of an innocent life is not lifted to the stars but rather sinks back into the Earth?

"Indeed, is it not better for that which is good to become one again with the very life of life?

"And would not being suspended forever between the Earth where we lived and the stars we once thought our glorious eternal resting place be as awful a hell as the one we believed in the depths of the Earth?"

Teacher's assertions were met with disconsolate silence.

"I have spoken with the gods."

Eyes looked at him with hope.

"A great rain will come. Clouds will cover the Earth from one full Moon to the next. When they at last dissipate, the sky will look as the sea. It will be a miracle as never before seen. No longer will there be the danger of one such as Melatonym seeing the shadows of the dead nor hearing their cries. None will know that heaven is here on Earth while hell watches from the sky.

"It will be called the Bluing." He paused, briefly looking each Elder in the eye.

"We must prepare those who look to us for guidance. We must tell them that the gods are planning a great cleansing but that it will end in a great gift for us.

"The sun will have an even more beautiful setting in which to shine. It will be called the gift of Blue."

But it isn't blue. That is just what men have been told; what children believe. What the Elders said to save the world from seeing the spirits of the dead hovering above them, unable to escape the confines of Earth.

As hundreds became thousands then, millions then billions, the descendants of Melatonym have become aware once again of the hum of despair coming from the sky...that isn't blue.

The sky was once a blank canvas, waiting for someone to paint it. The gods were busy creating the earth, the sea, the animals and the plants, but they had no time to paint the sky. The sky left it white and empty.

A young girl named Indigo lived on the earth. She loved to paint and draw, using the colors of nature as her inspiration. She painted flowers, birds, mountains and rivers, stars and moons. She was happy and creative, but she felt that something was missing.

She looked up at the sky and saw that it was plain and boring. She wished that she could paint it with colors and make it beautiful. She asked the gods to let her paint the sky, but they did not answer.

She decided to take matters into her own hands. She gathered all her paints and brushes and climbed up a tall mountain. She reached the top and saw that the sky was closer than before. She felt a surge of excitement and hope.

She dipped her brush in blue paint, which was her favorite color, and started to paint the sky. She painted it with strokes of light and dark blue, creating shades and contrasts. She painted it with swirls and curves, creating shapes and patterns. She painted it with dots and splashes, creating sparks and glitter.

She painted until she ran out of paint. She looked at her work and smiled. She had painted the sky blue, making it lively and lovely.

The gods saw what she had done and were amazed. They liked her painting and praised her for her skill and courage. They decided to reward her by letting her keep the sky as her masterpiece.

They also gave her a gift: a necklace made of blue gems that matched the color of the sky. They told her that whenever she wore the necklace, she would be able to see the sky as she had painted it.

Indigo thanked the gods and put on the necklace. She looked at the sky and saw that it was blue and beautiful. She felt happy and proud.

The answer quite simply why the sky is blue is that eons beyond eons, beyond millenniums, a young man named George Oliver Dennison made it that way. He wanted the sky to match exactly as the color of his eyes. He waved his hand across a vast area, and it became blue.

It wasn't a difficult feat for him to do.

After all, he created the world, and man and woman.

Today, we call him God. Hey, it beats saying his full name when you pray to him.

The sky was polite after light was made and let the land go first on the fateful day that color was assigned.

Land chose green and yellow and tried out pink but ended on brown gray green and white and the sky thought she'd get her chance after that. But then Land thought that it should have more options, considering its vast range of formations from sand to clay to dirt.

"I should get all the colors cause I'm all of earth!"

The sky was unsure what to say but then it didn't have to as the late third aspect trickled in and gushed,

"What are you on about? That is simply untrue! I'm definitely bigger and I decide you!"

Water had seeped onto the scene and it wasn't having earth's greedy color scheme.

In those days water was one giant mass and all of earth's land was a single land mass formed of all the dry earth and arguably it took up a little under half of earth's surface that the sky could see. Water was larger and land didn't know as both their views were limited to the space where they dwelled, but the sky had a Birdseye view and could tell that what earth claimed was simply untrue. So it agreed with water and it was earth against the tw.

"Actually there is more of water and less of you." The sky softly stated.

Water heated now stewed and somewhat agitated said,"see land, you aren't the earth wholy."

Land was quiet a moment as it wanted to be hard headed, boldly stubborn with its head full of rocks.

Water was impatient and would be damned before it stopped from interrupting the ground and it rushed rapidly to say,"Fine, you keep all the colors you've already claimed and Sky and I will Get Blue but twice a day you have to share with the sky the full range of the rainbow. To time it... lets make it sun rise and sunset."

The land confused cracked,"That's

more like it; but it leaves you with only blue, what a sucker you are to take only one hue!"

At this water waved and almost aloof ,"That's the thing land, you've made of me an enemy. For the fact that you fibbed i now seek to conquer you. From now on I will divide you down to a few pebbles. The sky is my witness I'll erode you to rubble and then you'll know earth's natural way."

And from that moment forward up to this modern day that is exactly what water has done.

Every river, each lake, or creek, stream, or spray from a gizer or hot spring, down to glaciers melting is all simple the water having not withdrawln its threat, or "promise.

The sky also assists by carrying stratus and cumulus, and all types of clouds to rain over the dry ground.

This old rivalry is no fairy tale cause even now we can see the comraderie of the two elements. How they are still teamed up to this day; and how they have peacefully shared blue ever since.

The End

The sky is blue because we are looking at a mirror

And our sky sees sadness

It cuts through every other color of the rainbow

And shows us the deep blue veins that run through our planet

It is a very simple sky

One that only shows a reflection of what is below

One that feels like many at certain times in different places

Since the sun is always trailing near

Showing us the variations in our landscapes

It’s blue because we want it to be

Not because it has to be

We could not stand to see to another color

Iris was the daughter of the gods, Thaumas of the blue sea and Thaumas' ocean-nymph wife, Electra. She chose as her mission, color, because the sky was black and, of all the emergencies the other gods addressed, she felt the dark sky was the most critical.

She tried to paint the sky, jumping so high that when she came back down, she had left a streak in that dark night, a multicolored band--an arc of variegated ribbon.

Thus she became known as the goddess of the rainbow.

But even a thousand rainbows could not prevent the black from bleeding through. So she jumped so high that she found a green star in the night and pushed it to the world. But the sky turned green, which made all of the lush gardens invisible. She jumped again, so high, that she found a red star in the night and pushed it together with the green star.

"Oh, no," she lamented, for the sky was yellow, and when she jumped along it the streaks of her rainbows were only brown. "A yellow sky just won't do, nor will brown rainbows!" she complained. She jumped yet again, so high, and was able to locate a blue star and tether it, pulling it into the star that was the combined red and green.

The sky became bright, blinding white. She made another arc, but the colors of its rainbow were completely overwhelmed by the brightness of the white. "Who wants to live their lives with eyes closed?" she grumbled.

She had an idea. She looked about the blinding landscape and removed everything brown she could see. She removed the bark of the trees, the stink from the shit, and the mush from all mushrooms. The sky darkened somewhat, but was now gray.

She looked about the bland, dull, muted landscape and removed everything red she could see. She ate all of the apples, picked all of the roses, and coagulated any blood there was into dark scabs. She looked up at the sky and saw it was cerulean. "Almost," she huffed.

She wondered about the green now. She wondered about removing the chlorophyll from the grass, the emeralds from the black shale and from ladies, and the hate from envy. But surely if she removed all the green, she calculated, she would be left with only a pure blue, which would wash out the blue in her rainbow, making each look like two--one of red, orange, yellow, and green, and another of indigo and violet.

"That not the way I will have my rainbows," she said. "Cerulean will have to do."

And she rested, for she saw that it was good.

MORAL OF THE STORY: If you live by the color wheel, don't look for complements when you're searching for rainbows.

There was once a girl, a delicate little thing with brilliant eyes and soft hair. Lydia Balkman, part of the most beautiful, prestigious clan, was the most beautiful girl in all the lands. Her entire clan was known for their light blue eyes and kindness. Every boy fantasized and adored over her.

Prince Theodore, perhaps the most charming prince the land has seen, had seen Lydia on his tower. He spotted her from hundreds of feet away, and was entranced by her beauty. This prince was always handsome, with dark curls and a great sense of humor. Every girl had eyes on him.

So when he declared his love for Lydia, everyone was livid. The boys were upset that their beloved prince stole Lydia from everyone else. All the girls were angry and jealous the Lydia got the prince and they didn't.

The two got married a few months later, which enraged Ophelia Andres like no other. She was one of the ugliest the land had, which made her very self-conscious. She, like all other girls, was in love with Prince Theodore, and was extremely jealous of Lydia. Something no one knew about her was that she had witch ancestry. With all the anger fueled up within her, she stormed to the palace courtyard on the day of the wedding.

She screamed in disgust at Lydia's dress. "On this very day, that Balkman clan won't be celebrating, no, but watching us with jealousy. They will know how we feel, being ugly and shamed with their beauty. They will feel how we feel, longing to be just like them! Let them watch us with jealousy!"

Ophelia, eyes flashing in anger, waved her arms around, bright lights blinding everyone. It was a few minutes before the lights vanished. Ophelia looked up and smiled. The sky was the very color of her eyes. Lydia's eyes.

The sky is everything

but blue

Blue's what you're

withholding on

in the mind's eye

The one tone

you will not let go of

The one to which

you've pinned

so much

ecstasy and sorrow

Maybe it's your favorite?

I know it's mine

and I reflect

it back

to the Gods

And though

on these grounds

my iris sometimes turn

a russet brown

like in old photographs

It is then I note

that I am truly

taking in

the hymnal of the Stars.

03.30.2023

A myth- Sky is Blue challenge @Ola_8