English Original
Long ago, the Sky was quite low. If you stood on a stool and stretched your hands up, you could touch it.
Far on the horizon, where the Sky was lowest, there was a village. In a little mud hut thatched with straw lived a bent Old Woman. She was the oldest in the village, perhaps the world, and lived alone with no one left. All day, she would potter around her hut, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing, and sweeping. She thought of nothing else.
One hot summer, the land was parched. Dust was everywhere—on trees, roofs, in throats and eyes, even in the air. People coughed and choked. The Sky, being so low, also suffered. The slightest wind made it cough from the dust rising from the dry earth.
The Old Woman's hut was covered in dust. She swept inside, outside, the front step, and the yard. But the more she swept, the more dust rose in great brown clouds.
The poor Sky began to choke on the dust she raised. It tickled its nose, making it sneeze—a great, thunderous sneeze that shook the world. People ran indoors in fright, but the Old Woman barely noticed and kept sweeping.
The Sky sneezed again; the dust was unbearable. It got into its eyes, making them water, so heavy drops of rain began to fall. The Old Woman barely noticed until a big, splodgy raindrop fell right on her freshly swept patch.
She glared at the Sky and scrubbed the raindrop away. But more fell, until her clean front step was blotchy with raindrops.
This was too much. She stood as straight as her bent back allowed, shook her fist at the Sky, and yelled for it to stop raining on her clean step. She cursed and threatened, but the Sky couldn't stop—its eyes were still full of dust from her sweeping.
Finally, enraged, the Old Woman picked up her broom and thwacked the Sky with it.
The Sky gave another great sneeze and jumped back. But she kept thwacking it, again and again.
At last, the Sky could take no more—the dust, the cursing, and the relentless thwacking of the broom. Sneezing, coughing, thundering, and raining, it flew up and away, out of reach of the broom, and swore never to come down again.
And that is why the Sky is so high. Even on the horizon, where it seems to touch the earth, it really doesn't anymore.
中文翻译
很久以前，天空非常低。如果你站在凳子上伸手，就能碰到它。
在地平线尽头，天空最低的地方，有一个村庄。一间茅草覆顶的小泥屋里，住着一位驼背的老妇人。她是村里最年长的人，也许是全世界最年长的，独自生活，举目无亲。她整天在屋里屋外闲逛，打扫、除尘、擦洗、扫地。她心里只想着这些事。
一个炎热的夏天，土地干涸。尘土无处不在——树上、屋顶上、人们的喉咙和眼睛里，甚至空气中。人们咳嗽、窒息。天空因为太低，也深受其害。最轻微的风也会让它因干燥土地扬起的灰尘而咳嗽。
老妇人的小屋满是灰尘。她扫了里面、外面、门前台阶和院子。但她扫得越起劲，扬起的棕色尘云就越多。
可怜的天空开始被她扬起的灰尘呛到。灰尘钻进它的鼻子，让它打了个喷嚏——一个巨大的、雷鸣般的喷嚏，震动了世界。人们惊恐地跑进屋里，但老妇人几乎没注意到，继续扫地。
天空又打了个喷嚏；灰尘变得难以忍受。灰尘进了它的眼睛，让它流泪，于是大滴的雨点开始落下。老妇人几乎没注意到，直到一大滴污渍般的雨点正好落在她刚扫干净的地方。
她怒视天空，擦掉雨渍。但更多的雨点落下，直到她干净的前台阶布满了雨点污痕。
这让她忍无可忍。她尽力挺直驼背，向天空挥舞拳头，大喊着让它别在她干净的台阶上降雨。她咒骂并威胁天空，但天空停不下来——它的眼睛里仍满是因她扫地而起的灰尘。
最后，老妇人勃然大怒，抓起扫帚重重地击打天空。
天空又打了个大喷嚏，跳开了。但她不停地打，一下又一下。
最终，天空再也无法忍受——灰尘、咒骂，尤其是扫帚无情的击打。它打着喷嚏、咳嗽着、雷鸣着、下着雨，高高飞起，远离扫帚所能及的范围，并发誓再也不下来。
这就是天空为何如此之高的原因。即使在地平线上，它似乎接触着大地，但实际上再也没有了。