Tatoosh

Long long ago in a remote part of small farming village, the winter winds started to tear the dead leaves from the trees, snow blew drifted into piles and a noisy pink baby was born. He grew up, moved around, finally settling in a river valley not far from the western sea. Around the valley tall mountains loomed, covered with fir trees. These great trees grew down to the banks of the chilly mountain streams and stopped where years ago they had been cut for wood and to make fields for farmers. Here he tried his hand at different things and listening to the local masters and teachers in his spare time.

Decades past, he married, grew fat and lazy, then divorced. Finally he decided that as beautiful as the river valley was, decades had passed and he needed to see more of the world while he still could. So he sold everything he had and set out across the western sea.

Arriving in a distant unfamiliar to him, he looked around until he found a cool wet place high in the mountains where, on a clear day, he could look out over clouds and down to the distant ocean. Surrounded again by tall trees and mountains, meadows full of flowers and farms growing all manner of produce, he settled down again with a young woman and began another life.

No matter he went and as different as the languages were, some things remained the same.