A god, walking along the horizon,
came where stones lived and said,
There is nothing for you to drink.

The dry earth keeps us alive,
the stones replied.

But,said the god,
the cool of water is like wind against your back.
The wet of water is like ointment.
The shape of water is your shape.

Well, then, said the stones,
What must we do for this water?

You must make yourselves into mountains,
the god said.

The stones gathered themselves together and rose
until they touched the water in the sky.

The sound of rain is the sound of stones sighing.
The sound of thunder is the sound of stones rolling their
dead down from the mountaintops.