A stump sat in the middle of a meadow brimming with wildflowers, and weeds, and butterflies, and birdsong, and little creatures. Each morning, as the sun rose, a wise old man sank onto that stump. And the wisdom of the ages filled him.
It was more than enough.
One still morning, the stump sat empty. The wildflowers, and the weeds, and the butterflies, and the birds, and the little creatures rejoiced, for they felt closer than ever to the wise old man.
One evening, at sunset . . .
a young man, whom the meadow did not know, sat upon the stump. His mind whirled with questions.
Who am I?
How can I prosper?
The meadow answered,
but the young man did not hear.
Next morning, as the sun rose, a tractor chugged. Steel blades ripped into the meadow.
At the stump, the tractor stopped. “There’s that stump,” the young man grumbled…
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