Bring your mug of cocoa and choose a chair round our crackling hearth. Night has come with a heavy rain. Now is a good time for the crone to tell a tiny tale, so open your mind and heart and find what meaning you will.  

A crone visited a sage in hope of ending her lifelong string of misfortune.

“I’m despised by the gods,” she said. “My parents sold me into servitude. My husband left me for a mermaid. People laugh at my pottery. Can you help me?” 

The sage mumbled a prayer and the crone was struck deaf.

The crone wept in disbelief at this latest injustice. In despair, she stumbled through her village. What did she see?

A seller of herbs, finger jabbing at the chest of a buyer, both with angry faces beneath the cool shade of a tree. Two women with heavy shoulders as they spooned fragrant soup between bouts of tears. A traveler with anxious eyes and a map. All with moving lips.

The crone could not hear their stories of rage, sorrow, and fear. The sage had left her with only cool shade, fragrant soup, and the miracle of maps.

Heaven on earth is like this.

*This week I read a post by author Liz Gilbert about how people like hearing stories and figuring out things for themselves rather than being told how to live life. So…I decided to write a tiny tale. This is my first, and it was fun.

*featured photo by Cristian Newman — thank you!!