The man traded in fruit, imported from far away lands on great ships that sailed into harbor. One day in the market, while stacking pineapples at his stand, he noticed a woman he had not seen before. He thought she was beautiful and charming as a berry. Over a basket of lemons, he introduced himself and was pleased by her smile. He would polish his pears and apples and hurry through his other customers to that he might give her his undivided attention when she came by. She was a new arrival to their village by the sea; she was a writer, here away from the larger city seeking solace and inspiration. They were quickly friends beyond customer and shopkeeper, but he did not know how to explain himself further: for him what started that first day as notice and mere fancy, soon became very close to love.

He made his way just out of town to walk along the shore and consider his situation. He was lost in thought and did not notice his surroundings, for as it happened the sea and sky were squabbling. Both were vast and deep and now, midwinter, their stormy wrestling was at its peak. The sky blew and wailed, trying to freeze the waters with icy gusts. The sea bucked and spit, tossing froth and spray as though to drown its opponent. Neither had the upper hand.

"All life comes from me," said the sea, "You break their skin and split their lips."

"But I sustain them with each breath," said the sky, "You give them monsters."

"I give the wet of their bodies," said the sea.

"I give them fire and the dream of flight," said the sky.

"I give them the moon," said the sea.

"I give them the sun," said the sky.

They slapped and raged at each other further in this way.

It was then that they saw the fruit seller walking nearby, lost in thought and longing. They agreed to a trial by man to settle their dispute.

"I will blow a chill into his heart," said the sky, "and his joy will leave him utterly."

"I will soak him with sorrow," said the sea, "and his tears will only add to my glory."

And so, the sky sent down long, luxurious feather from a gull. It was both sturdy and silken, white as cream to its velvet black tip. It stuck up from the sand where the man would surely see it.

The sea washed ashore a beautiful conch shell. It was rosy pink, streaked through with gold and ochre. It curved into itself with a thousand secret places, while long slender spines spiraled out like the arms of a dancer. It washed ashore next to the feather where the man would surely see them both.

He practically stumbled over them, and was overjoyed at his find. He would give her these as gifts and she would then know his feelings. He raced home with his treasures; the sky and sea watched and waited to see which of them would break him first.

The next day followed smoothly, the marketplace had the same bustling routine of exchange, yet it was all the fruit seller could do to be attentive to his customers. He kept looking into the crowd to see her, to glimpse her handling and considering her purchases for the day. He may have shortchanged one of his regulars, he may have given out an extra orange or so, his thoughts were restless and roving. But then she was there, asking in her usual way if the price of lemons had changed.

"It has," he replied barely containing himself, his mouth playing at the corners with a smile.

"Oh? What will it cost me, today?"

He pulled out two parcels, each neatly wrapped in plain paper with string.

"That you accept these two gifts as tokens of my affection," he said. She blushed in surprise and received them simply, without any show of propriety, without any ritual of affected decline. She took them from his hands and their fingertips slid through each other as they had a dozen times already over winter melons and money. But this time he felt the hairs on his neck lift and his throat tighten. This time, as she smiled and met his gaze she felt her cheeks flush. She took home his gifts without further comment. Neither trusted their tongues beyond their teeth to say anything more.

That evening the fruit seller again went to the shore, though in a considerably different disposition from the day before. He skipped along the wet edge of sand and shot stones from his pocket across the water; he was visibly elated and the sea and sky watched.

"What is this," asked the sky, "He smiles like a fool. We have somehow failed."

"You are impatient," remarked the sea, "Some tides take time to turn."

That evening the woman unwrapped her gifts. She marveled at them, each well-formed and exquisite. With a sharp blade, she made the feather into a pen. She spread out fresh paper and set the shell before her as inspiration. She sat down to write. However, pen in hand, all that came to mind were phrases of revulsion and disgust. As she wrote, intending to compose a note of thanks to her kind friend, she found that she could only describe what might be his flaws. Words failed her and she set down the pen, disturbed. She tried again on a new page, and again was confronted with sour images and poisoning words. Pen in hand, she could only see that she did not - and could never - love a man like him. Crumpled paper soon crowded her in all sides.

She set down the pen, and caught her breath. Her head ached, and her hand pulsed and cramped. She raised from her desk and lifted the conch shell. She paced with it slowly, and fingered along the slender fronds and slick smooth whorls. She raised it to her ear to hear the ocean and to clear her mind.

The rushing whisper was soothing at first, and she began to relax. But then, little by little, she heard voices in the sound. Rumors and secrets, awful suggestions and obvious lies. The stream of malice grew in severity and distaste, conniving to describe the fruit seller as some grossly foul demon; a vile and wicked wretch.

The sky and sea stormed and tangled most violently that night.

The next day, the woman did not arrive as usual to the market. She was not among the morning crowd; she did not meander in with any midday nibblers for lunch. The fruit seller, first buzzing with anticipation, sunk deeper and deeper into a brooding disquiet. By the day's end, he had given up hope of seeing her altogether. He began to doubt; she was a finely made and educated, a lady of the city. What would she want with him, anyway? He, with plum stains on his apron, and lost blueberries in the cuffs of his pants. Feathers and seashells! Filthy, silly things picked off the ground. How could they matter to anyone?

On and on in this way he began to doubt. He gnawed a sour apple on his way to the shore that evening, mulling over his misery. The sea and sky paused their bickering as he approached, each seeking to find their hand supreme in his condition.

"Is his heart frozen," asked the sky.

"Is he crying," asked the sea.

But just as the fruit seller shuffled onto the sand he heard a voice behind him, calling his name. It was the writer, bearing a large open box. She looked out of breath and tired.

"I thought you might be here," she said, after a curt exchange of greetings.

"I come here to think," he replied, then noticing, "You don't look so well, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I had a long night. I couldn't sleep."

He looked to the box in her arms. She handed it to him, saying, "I have to return your gifts."

He nodded glumly, resigned. The sky and sea were each calm, still and gray.

"I understand-"

He stopped when he held the box close and looked in. Inside was a thick nest of torn, shredded papers - all her discarded and false starts - and bits of gull feather fluff, wadded about the box to protect what lay in the middle. He set the box down and carefully lifted out a delicate lattice of string and shell, which tinkled and clinked in unexpected and delightful ways. It all hung from the stripped stem of the feather he had given her.

"It's a wind chime," she said. He drew his fingers through the hanging bits of shell, and the music leaped between them dancing about into the air. The sky scowled, baffled.

She blushed and apologized, "I sorry; I broke the shell and the feather. But I made this for you in return. The wind and the ocean, see? Didn't you once tell me these were the things you loved most about this place? You can hang it in your shop where all can see."

His eyes gleamed and his cheek ran with a tear - and yet he smiled; the sea grumbled, confused.

"And you can take it with you when go, back to the city."

"Mm," she said thoughtfully and considered her options.

They walked along the shore in this way, talking close with fingers touching.

"See how I have brought them together," said the sky, "Surely my powers are greater."

"You know nothing," said the sea, "Obviously this was my doing."

They pushed at each other, as children will.