Five: Past- Solar Minimum

I begin my story as my mother, my teacher, and even the assistant priest have, all in different occasions throughout my life.

‘In the beginning Helianthus created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of Helianthus was hovering over the waters of dewdrops.’

‘Over the course of a week, Helianthus made the forest. On the first day, light was separated from darkness, to create day and night, and to guide our sunflowers’ dance. On the second day He created the sky to separate the waters, from which the dew that quenches our thirst and feeds our home comes. On the third day He created the land on which we walk and live on alongside our flowers. On the fourth day he let the land produce vegetation: the land produced the sunflowers first, which sprouted proud and tall reaching for the skies, the plants that feed us came later, bearing fruits and seeds and kindling. On the fifth day He added another plant, which he called a tree, our grove, its top branches disappear behind a halo of clouds up above the crystal disks of our sunflowers. On the sixth animals were born, the great winged butterflies and bees that feed and pollinate our forest.’

‘On the seventh and final day, He made us in his image. We grew from the ground alongside the sacred flowers, here in our very own land. He gave the forest to us to look after, to inhabit it for generation upon generation. The flowers are for protection, its fruits for nourishment, the waters to be shared among every being who bears the breath of life. Helianthus saw all that He had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning, the seventh day.’

I finish narrating, still looking at the skies, I catch a fleeting shadow over one sunflower’s petal as my class starts to clap.

‘Very good, Clemence.’ My teacher tells me.