The Wanderer Who Waited
The little wanderer was always in a hurry. He ran right past the sunrise before it finished.
"Hurry, hurry," he whispered. "There is so much to see." But his feet never saw the ground.
One morning, a small brown seed lay in his path. "What will you be?" he asked. The seed said nothing at all.
He tucked it into the soft earth. "Grow, please," he said. "Now would be good."
Nothing happened. He tapped his foot. He sighed a very big sigh.
He peeked at the soil. Still nothing. But down in the dark, tiny roots were stretching, slowly, slowly.
So he dashed off to find something faster.
A snail was crossing a mossy stone. Slow, slow, slow. "Can't you go any faster?" asked the wanderer.
The snail smiled. "I get where I'm going," she said. "And I see everything on the way."
The wanderer tried to walk her way. One step. Another. His feet wiggled. It felt like forever.
Then he saw it: a dewdrop on a leaf, a ladybug, the soft green moss. They had been there all along.
A spider spun her web, one thread at a time. She did not rush. The wanderer watched, and did not rush either.
The afternoon grew long and golden. He sat beside the snail, and for once, he did not move.
The sun began to sink. "Hurry up, sunset," he said. But the sunset did not hurry.
Pink melted into orange. Orange melted into gold. Each color took its turn.
The moon climbed the sky, one small step at a time. It never ran. It always got there.
"Oh," breathed the wanderer. "Some things cannot be rushed."
One by one, the stars came out. He fell asleep in the grass, and the snail kept watch.
The night was long and quiet. Morning came, slow and gentle, with dew on every blade.
Nearby, a flower bud sat with its petals folded tight. "Not yet," it seemed to say. The wanderer smiled. "I'll wait."
He walked back to the little patch of earth, slowly this time. He was not cross at all.
"I can wait," he said. And right then, a tiny green curl pushed up through the soil.
It opened into two small leaves, like hands saying hello. "There you are," he whispered.
Good things come in their own time. And the little wanderer was glad he waited. The End.