THE TORTOISE AND HARE REVISITED

The tortoise was decidedly silent after winning the race against the hare.  The hare, on the other hand, wasted no time in beginning to clamor against the tortoise’s devious method of gaining momentum by luring his opponent into dawdling so as to make the race not seem quite so lopsided.  “Of course I could have won,” the hare declared, “if I hadn’t been trying to be so considerate of the tortoise’s feelings.”  The other animals in the woods were getting so annoyed with the hare’s arrogant self-justification that they finally convened a conference and agreed to present a plan by which the hare might vindicate his claims.  When they approached the hare and the tortoise, the hare jumped at the chance, and the tortoise grudgingly acquiesced.  Markers for an obstacle course were laid out, showing a route full of hills and curves, tree trunks and stream beds, and instructions were given to both contestants that they must not deviate from the designated path.  A signal was given, and the hare leaped into action, leaving the tortoise in at least a figurative cloud of dust.  There would be no dawdling this time!  Bounding over hills and hopping rocks to get across streams, the hare faithfully followed the path up to the last marker, which pointed the way across a deep lake.  Aghast, the hare was furtively looking for a way around this wide expanse of water when out of the bushes stepped two wolves, one to the right and one to the left.  “Either you swim, or you’re dinner,” growled the wolves in unison.  The desperate hare dove in, and with legs flailing, disappeared beneath the surface.  Some time later the tortoise finally reached the lakeside and continued the course straight through the water.  On the other side it was welcomed by a cheering crowd of fellow forest dwellers.  “Thank you,” said the tortoise modestly, “but where is the hare?”  Emerging from the back of the crowd, one of the two wolves answered, “Let’s just say that he has learned to follow your admirable model of silence.”

NEWLYWED CHICKEN*

Ann was a new bride, young and inexperienced in the kitchen.  Jack was a new husband, eager to please his bride’s efforts.  One week into the marriage, Ann ventured to try a chicken recipe she had found in a cookbook given to them for their wedding.  At the table, Jack was effusive in his compliments, vowing that it was the best thing he had ever eaten.  Ann, encouraged, continued to use the chicken recipe once a week, assured that she had achieved at least some culinary success.  One year into the marriage, after finishing yet another chicken dinner, Jack finally mustered the courage to confess to his bride that he actually hated chicken.  He expected a response of rage, resentment, or at least irritation.  Instead, all he got was surprise.  “I only cooked it because I thought you liked it,” said Ann.  “I didn’t care for it much myself.”  That evening the cookbook went into the waste basket along with the chicken bones.  Jack and Ann had taken a step beyond being newlyweds and a step closer to each other.

*based on a true account I heard many years ago . . .

 

THE MIRROR

The bathroom light snaps on.  Bounding in, the preschooler reaches for his toothbrush and squeezes an overly generous amount of toothpaste on it.  Brushing vigorously for ten seconds, he grins at the mirror, spits toothpaste into the sink, throws the brush down on the counter and grins at the mirror again.  “Hurry up!” yells the teenager from the hallway.  The preschooler exits, and the teenager enters.  Peering at the mirror, he anxiously examines his newest outbreak of acne and dabs some alcohol on it.  “Hopeless!”  he mutters and hurries out, pulling on a tee shirt  as he passes by his father impatiently waiting at the doorway.  Dad strides in, picks up his razor and shaves methodically, then buttons up his shirt and carefully knots his tie.  One last quick inspection of his reflection in the mirror, and he is off to work.  Gramps pokes his head into the bathroom to make sure he’s not interrupting anyone else, and then enters to do his business.  Looking into the mirror, he runs fingers through his thinning hair and mutters “oh well, who cares?”  The light snaps off.  The mirror has done its job, for this morning at least.

 

CLOSE CALL

Andreas was an avid hiker, and early spring weather had lured him out to a national park to explore the wonders of nature.  After following a marked trail for awhile, he decided to venture off into a rocky area on the side of a mountain.  A mile or so into the rough terrain, he came upon what looked like a cave.  Bending down and peering in, he could see only darkness.  Although he was sorely tempted to enter the cave, he had no flashlight with him and thought it would be too risky; there might be loose rocks, and he didn’t want to take a chance on falling.  So he turned around and retraced his steps back to the trail.  An hour passed.  Then at the mouth of the cave appeared a dark brown snout, sniffing the spring air.  Two little snouts also appeared, copying their mother’s sniffing.  The grizzly mother was wary.  She had just awakened from her winter slumber and was hoping to feed herself and her cubs, but her sniffing brought her aggressive tendencies to the fore – she had detected the scent of a human!  Her mouth opened, showing her yellow fangs.  She sniffed again, and decided that the scent was fading, so she led her babies out into the sunshine to explore the wonders of nature.   Andreas, now back on the marked trail, was heading toward his car and civilization, blissfully unaware of his close call with the dangers of nature.

 

DEATH DOUSED

The hawk perched on a blackened limb, surveying the burnt-out forest landscape, its piercing eyes searching for some small animal that would indicate a possible meal.  Nothing moved.  Obviously there would be no sustenance here, and so, slowly spreading its wings, the hawk soared off toward more promising territories.  A slight wind stirred up some of the ash on the ground, and from a distance could be heard a cracking sound as a small limb snapped off and fell to the ground.  Since the wildfire, all was dull gray and black, a lifeless scene that stretched monotonously toward the horizon where it was matched by the dark clouds that had gathered overhead today.  A drop of rain fell into the ash, and then another and another.  Soon there were rivulets of gray water running in various directions, exposing some of the earth beneath.  And if the hawk had still been perched on the branch, something below might have caught its attention – a tiny green seedling, just poking through the soil and now exposed as some of the ash floated away.   Death had been doused with the power of life.

NO TIME

Max was in a real rush, cursing himself that he had slept through his alarm, on this morning of all mornings!  He didn’t dare be late for the meeting with his top clients – too much was at stake.   Sprinting from the park-and-ride lot toward the train, he didn’t make his usual stop at the newsstand to buy a paper.  All he did was shout backward at the vendor, “no time today!” as he raced on.  The vendor, paper in hand, shook his head, and then suddenly froze.  As Max dashed across the street, intent on reading some text message on his cell phone, he never noticed the car that came hurtling through the intersection trying to beat the red light.  There was a sickening thump, and then a limp form sprawled awkwardly on the pavement.   Some bystanders hurried to the scene to help, but one of them who bent over the form shook his head.   Max was obviously beyond any help.  The newsstand vendor, still frozen in place, murmured to himself, “He was right.  He had no time today.”

RIVER ROCK

Catherine had driven past the rock shop countless times without ever stopping, but today she had the urge to see if there might be something there to highlight her new decorating scheme.  On entering, she noticed a bin labeled “river rocks” and stopped to take a closer look.  One particular piece of pinkish gray granite with veins of green and black caught her attention.  I wonder, she thought, what distant mountain birthed this stone, how it was washed out of the ground by spring rains and whether it plummeted over a waterfall as it made its way down the river , tumbled over and over until it was finally plucked out of the water and landed in this shop.  Still pondering the convoluted natural path the stone had taken to present itself to her, she went to pay the man at the cash register, intrigued by her find.  “Like that rock?”  he asked.  “My grinding machine does a great job!”