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And as the sun rolled over the mountains of the Earth, she fell asleep at last. Katherine's hair flowed through the fields with the whispering winds that blew out from the trees on the far mountain's edge.

"What are you doing?" asked the grass that frolicked at her naked feet. But she did not answer. The sun shone down too warmly upon her soft cheeks. Katherine could but linger while the coming warmth stirred the morning air.

"Katherine, what are you doing?" softly spoke the blue skies. Her eyes awoke to see their beauty, but the sky was seen to be obstructed. Dressed in the morning's darkness, a man knelt, eyes of fire, moving his hands softly over hers. And under. And embraced them more.

"Silly girl, what are you doing?" His voice was kind laughter. There was no malice save she could not see into his mind. He did not rise always as the sun, only sometimes, or much too often. His eyes did not always flow down, but more than occasionally up to the farthest skies, where of he would speak of things she could not see . . . though she tried . . . and sometimes taunted him from on high even as he struggled.

No, he was a mystery, but rarely harsh, at least to her -- on occasion though, far off the townsfolk of the mountains cried when he would visit them again. And sometimes linger on for many days.

Still, the sun came up, and he came back and told her always it would be so. So Katherine sleeps below her sun at night, and bids the winds to blow.