The Mirror of Truth

The Magic Coin

The Gopher’s Other World

The Forbidden Union

The Trail of Paradox

The Squirrel and the Apple

The Camel’s Conclusion

Will and Trust

The Subservient Child

Fanning the Freedom Flame

The Seed of Possibility

Harvest Forlorn


“Stories tell us of what we already knew and forgot, and remind us of what we haven’t yet imagined.”

—Anne L. Watson

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Harvest Forlorn

_____There was a farmer who tended his fields with great diligence. He tilled the ground patiently and prepared the soil for planting. There were many beautiful and bountiful plants he desired to grow and he set forth on his journey to sow the appropriate seeds.
The rains came, followed by glorious sunshine, and the sprouts peaked out to see the light of day. Soon the fields flourished with crops of all kinds. There were fruits, vegetables, and flowers as far as the eyes could see.
_____Harvest was fast approaching and the farmer made no preparations to reap the benefits of his fields. He had worked long and hard and wanted to bask in the beauty of his creation.
Days passed; then weeks turned to months with still no harvest. The fields had long been covered with rotting and rodent infested remnants of what had been there. He usually sat alone, looking proudly at an album he had created with pictures of the richest of acreage. The farmer rarely made his way outside the modest farmhouse anymore, for having the photographs of his most incredible accomplishment made it unnecessary for him to look upon it anymore. He looked longingly forward to the day when he could once again plow and plant his fields, all the while dreaming of a creation to top even this most recent success.
_____He offered daily a prayer of thanksgiving for the small garden behind the farmhouse that was able to bear enough food to sustain him throughout the year without him having to disrupt his prized field. The small garden was indeed a modest blessing for the farmer, as it not only protected his fields, but made trips into the nearby village entirely unnecessary. This was most welcome since these trips were not among his favorite of pastimes. He did not enjoy in the least having to pass the meager homes of the impoverished village. The sight of hungry children and embattled mothers toiling in vein failed to entertain him. Indeed, it was all together better that he not make his way into this painful environment. In fact, he often said an extra prayer of thanksgiving at bedtime; thanksgiving for the wall he had built around his farm that sheltered him from the indigence nearby. Indeed, his life was blessed.

© 1993 - Paul Stephens