Below is a collection of favorites chosen by my family and me.

The Artist’s Garden

There once was an artist who struggled very much in life. He took up many careers for belief that he was good at none of them. He had tried painting at one point, and found an inner peace with it. He enjoyed it very much, but he was no good at it. Because of this, he had determined that this was not the life for him. He kept trying new occupations yet, even when he found success in his career, he was no longer happy. He mourned his life, and the tribulations he had endured, and thought that surely, no hope was left. 

It was the day of his dear mother’s passing, and he couldn’t feel any lower. He watched as everyone paid their respects, before leaving him alone with her tomb. The last to leave was a little girl with a black veil over her face. She laid upon the grave a single flower, a yellow daffodil, and then sat there for some time. When he asked her who his mother had been to her, she replied,

“She was my music teacher. She healed my family, and saved my mother’s life. She is my hero.”

These words moved the artist so deeply, that he rushed home to paint what was in his heart. The result was a beautiful bouquet of daffodils, the symbolism of his mother’s passion. He found a strange beauty in the flowers, and again and again he would paint them, each time capturing him the same way.

Eventually, he grew so inspired, he started to seek out other flowers. But he would never settle for “ordinary flowers”. When a scene truly moved him, he would pay attention to the feelings any flowers in that scene would capture in him. He began to plant some of his own, so that he could continue to tell the story of each flower from his own home. Before long he had a beautiful garden, full of colorful, unique flowers. His works went on to become some of the most coveted art pieces in the world.

But to him, and his mystical garden, it all began with a single daffodil.

Hill Academy

There was once an ugly man who appeared at the entrance to Hill Academy. He was begging for shelter from a violent quaking thunderstorm, and declared he would work for any small scrap of compassion they offered. Seeing this as a great opportunity, the cadre brought him in, fed him, gave him clean clothes and a bath, and an empty room to sleep. The next morning when they awoke, he was already sweeping the floors, and greeted each of them with a deep gratitude. This pleased the cadre, and they decided to let him stay longer. 

The next day when the ugly man had finished sweeping every floor on campus, he was wandering the halls and enjoying the scenery when one of the cadre approached him. The cook had fallen ill, and dishes were piling up in his absence. So, they told the man he would need to wash the dishes if he wanted to stay longer. 

“What a beautiful thing you have given me.” He said with a smile, and happily rushed off to begin his task. 

A few days later another of the cadre found him relaxing on a bench, hands soft from washing. Since the turn of the season, the leaves had grown out of control covering the ground, preventing the teachers from having their lectures in the green. So, they told the man he needed to clean up the leaves if he wanted to stay longer. 

“What a beautiful thing you have given me.” He said with a smile, and happily rushed off to begin his task. 

A week later, another of the cadre came to him as he was returning to his room, dusting little bits of leaf off himself. It was nearly the end of the semester, and everyone was busy with examinations, thus, the bathrooms had become quite dirty. They asked him to make time to clean them if he wanted to stay longer. 

“What a beautiful thing you have given me.” He said with a smile, and happily rushed off to begin his task. 

This continued for a long time, and many of the students observed this relationship. Most kept quiet, but one day a recently enrolled student approached the ugly man while he was raking the leaves. 

“Why do you let the cadre treat you like that?”

The man was already smiling and did not cease his task. 

“You perceive that I am of service to them, but truly they are of service to me. What greater purpose is there than to serve our fellows and support the next generation?”

The student thought on these words as he returned to his own room for the night. Alas, sometimes the simplest truths are most difficult to grasp.

Zenster

There once was a Zenster of the Fodr discipline who had four students. One day when they were all gathered before him one of them asked,

“Master, you have taught us much, but this one question continues to elude us. You have lived such a long time and know so much, What is the meaning of life?”

The Zenster pondered this with a smile. When finally he spoke he answered with a question.

“How many leaves are upon the Great Tree WillowMourn? Go and seek your answer, and whosoever is most correct shall be granted the title of Zenster alongside me and my peers, without further trial.”

Thus, his students were dismissed. The oldest remained behind, waiting for the others to leave. Hoping to prove himself, he said to his master

“There is no answer. Leaves are always falling and growing anew, their number is as shifting as the wind.”

“Very perceptive.” Admired his master, “So does this answer your original question?”

The Oldest Student decided to return to his room and think on that further.

Next, the youngest sought out one of her master’s previous students and asked how they would answer. When she returned to her master he shook his head,

“Your senior got this question wrong with the same answer. What is your answer?”

The Youngest Student too returned to her quarters to ruminate on this.

The two remaining students traveled together to the base of WillowMourn; where one took a seat, and the other pulled out a pen and pad. The older of the two, started a tally on her pad as she counted each branch and each leaf. Eventually she grew tired and quickly did some calculations to find her answer before returning to the Zenster.

“Your process was indeed thorough, but the result was warped by your impatience.”

The Second Oldest Student understood these words and retired to her quarters to sit with them.

After several days had passed the fourth student had yet to return. The Zenster ventured to the Great Tree, where he found the youth still seated, staring up at the canopy, counting each leaf. When his master approached, he spoke up,

“I am sorry, Master, but I am not yet ready. Please let me sit with this tree until I find your answer.”

Pleased with what he heard, the Zenster obliged his student, and the next day the Second Youngest Student was declared a Zenster in his own right. He never left that tree, even in his final breath; and his skeleton remains seated there, covered in the beautiful leaves he never stopped counting.

There once was a human Disciple of Fodr who was training on a hot summer day with his master. They were tilling the wheat fields by hand, as they did at this same time every year. On this particular late morning, the sun seemed to be shining its brightest earlier than ever. As they reached the final field, the master challenged his student to till this whole field by himself without wiping a single bead of sweat off his brow. 

Thinking himself well capable, the disciple accepted this challenge and began tilling in earnest, concentrating intently on his breathing and form to try and reduce his perspiration. He found a natural rhythm, and his master couldn’t help but be impressed with what he had retained. But as he went the sun grew ever higher and brighter, if that was even possible. A single bead of sweat started to roll down his hairline 

“It tickles”

the master observed his student’s progress and responded 

“It is not time”

So he kept tilling and the bead rolled off his eyebrow into the corner of his eye 

“It stings and I cannot see”

“It is not yet time”

It careened down the focused lines of his face, pausing at the bottom of his nostril 

“It smells so salty”

“It is not yet time”

It dripped from the nostril onto his upper lip and down to the corner 

“It tastes so bitter and stings my mouth” the master noted that the field was nearly complete, but the young man had only started mere moments ago. 

“It is not time”

The sweat rolled down onto his chin where it hung for a moment as it prepared to make its descent through the air. The student was about to remark about the sensation, then caught himself. A moment later the droplet was gone, and a cool gentle breeze washed over his face. He looked down at the scythe in his hands and realized the field lay behind him.