At first, the world was a bowl, and then the gods decided to fill it. Each one took a gleaming finger and hollowed out a trench, leaned back to spit god spit from beautiful lips until what came to be called earth gleamed like a cared for scalp. 

 

In each furrow, a stalk, woven by the Weaver of Plants. Tussle at the top, each new one placed into the muck. Soon, they grew to the bottom of the gods’ chins, and they knew they must make someone with feet small enough to walk the rows, with a back that could flexed enough to bend.

 

They called Magpie to come and begged him to look for something that shined, something that could be made into such a helpmeet. Magpie laughed harshly once, twice, “oh oh” then flew off over all the new green, shimmer-flecked, rows. Magpie didn’t return for seven days and when he finally returned he had flown around the world. He came back with a maple sapling, which the gods received, and feeling it to be supple, shaped the sapling branch into woman, sweet, sapped, and strong. 

 

She moved her limbs and knew immediately what she was to do, stood and strode into the work of the harvest, disappearing into the rows.

 

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