They say that long ago the sun stopped rising over a deep valley. One morning the east hill stayed dark, and the rooster crowed three times and gave up. For three days the village lived in the night. It was cold, and everybody was afraid.
The men climbed the hill with drums and shouted. They came back pale. "There is a mountain up there that was not there before," they said. "And it breathes."
Mira was a girl of nine who said good morning to everything: the cows, the bridge, the old well. She took a loaf of warm bread and a jug of milk and climbed the hill alone. The mountain was really a giant, sitting with his chin on his knees and his eyes shut.
"Good morning," said Mira. "Excuse me, sir. I think you are sitting on the sunrise."
The giant opened one eye as big as a pond. "Am I? I sat down to rest. Everyone shouted at me, so I thought nobody wanted me here." He stood up and moved to the next hill, and the sun rose and filled the valley with gold.
