A Childrens Story

[Guest guest]

"Gather round little ones and I will tell you

a tale of olden times and grand mysteries to pass

these long shadow times, before we go to sleep."

 

 

There was once a small village at the foot

of a mountain. And on this mountain the

rain never fell, and nothing living grew.

This caused the people of the village to

consider the mountain cursed and no one

ever went there.

But one man in his youth was curious,

as the young often are, and decided to

climb there and observe the mystery

for himself, and on doing so he discovered,

as he had been told, that the top was arid

and lifeless.

Thinking to try an experiment

he began to carry a bucket of water up

the dangerous side of the mountain each

day and pour it in the rock and sand

at the summit. Soon it became his habit

each day to rise each before all others and

complete this self appointed task before

the business of the day began.

The people of the village decided he was

cursed by the spirits of the mountain and

took little notice of his strange errand.

Time passed, as it has a way of doing,

and the young man grew old, continuing

his daily pilgrimage to the summit of the

mountain, carrying water to pour into

the parched and lifeless soil there.

As it happened, one day when the man

had reached a great age, it was noticed

by the people that he had not returned

from his daily sojourn to the heights, and a

party of men were sent see if he had

finally succumbed to the treacherous cliffs

of the mountain and fallen to his death.

So the men, following a trail worn into the rock by

countless laboring steps over many perilous ledges

climbed to the towering steeps of the summit.

 

And there they beheld a sight that not one

would ever forget, for before them was

the most beautiful garden that their eyes

would ever rest upon. Struck silent in

awe they walked the single path in tears

at the glory and beauty of the splendor

all around them.

 

And there at the center of this wondrous

garden they found the old mans body, laid out

as if resting, on the green grass, surrounded

by a thousand scented blossoms,

a quite smile on his old weathered,

shining face, his labors forever completed.

 

There they buried him where he lay,

and as they gathered round to make

the prayers of farewell, the first rain

ever to come to that place began to fall.

 

And that little ones is how this,

our mountain came to be called

The Home of the Tears Of Heaven.

and whenever we we see the rains

come to our mountain to flow down

and water our fields we know that they

are the legacy of a simple man with

great faith.

 

Mace