text: One day a beautiful young maiden was wondering through the forest collecting wildflowers. This was usually one of her favorite ways to occupy herself during her free time but today she had a special purpose, for tonight was the ball to celebrate the prince’s eighteenth birthday. Every eligible girl in the kingdom would be there hoping that they would be the one to catch the prince’s eye. Isabella was searching for wildflowers to make a garland that would set off her outfit just perfectly. Not just any wildflowers would do, they had to be a shade of blue just about, but not quite as deep as her eyes. This was not an easy color to find and the field that she was in was so filled with tiny wildflowers that she had to concentrate extremely hard to pick out the ones that she wanted from among all the various shades of blue and pink and yellow that surrounded her. She was concentrating so hard in fact, that she did not notice the older gentleman in dark robes sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing. The man on the tree noticed her, however. He knew she would be there for she had told him about it many times and he was watching her every move with fascination. He was all but spellbound by her innocence and determination in her task. The way she moved through the field half hunched over examining the different flowers, pausing here and there to pick one and examine it more closely, and finally either discarding it or adding it to the others in the small basket that she carried. He would chuckle to himself when her brow furrowed with dissatisfaction, and his heart would lift each time he saw the look of happiness and approval on her face when the small bud would meet her criteria. He wanted to sit there forever and watch this angel on earth go about her chore for he loved her very deeply. As she inched her way closer to his perch, he knew that the time he had been dreading had finally come, it was time for them to meet. “Hello, my child,” he said in a deep and somewhat raspy voice. “Oh my!” she looked up in surprise, for she thought that she was alone in the field. “Good sir, you’ve startled me.” “There is no cause for alarm, my dear, I was just resting here on my journey to your kingdom when you came along,” he replied. “you look as if you have a very important task to accomplish.” “Oh, I was just collecting flowers,” she said looking shyly down at her basket. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Do you have business at the castle?” “Your king has summoned me as an advisor,” he answered. The mention of the king and the castle excited Isabella so that she forgot about taking caution with strangers, as her father had warned. She plopped herself down on the ground in front of the mand and asked, “You must be a very important man for the king to summon you. Please tell me sir, just what is it that you do?” The man paused for a moment to study the beautiful young face looking up at him. He thought about how many times before he had looked deeply into those eyes and seen all the love and compassion looking back at him. He drew his gaze down to the cute little nose that had rubbed against his own so many times before, and finally studied the slight pout on the lips he had kissed a thousand times a thousand in the past. He wished he could hold her and kiss her now, but he knew this would frighten her away for after all, they were only just meeting today. He must have gotten lost in his thoughts for again she begged, “Please sir, I am only a child as you said, but I am loyal to the king. If you tell me of your business, it will go no further.” The man returned his gaze to her eyes and said, “I know you are loyal my dear, but my business with the king is no big secret, if that is what you seek. “Actually, you would probably find it quite dull.” “Oh no sir,” she replied, “any business with the king could hardly be dull, but if you won’t tell me your business please at least tell me what it is that you do.” “What I do?” he repeated, “I do very little actually. I guess I would describe myself as an observer. I observe what is going on around me and offer advice on how best to react to it.” “I have never heard of such a thing before,” she responded, “and the king has summoned you to do what you have described for him?” “Why yes, he has,” answered the man with a laugh. “I find it astonishing myself at times, but many kings and queens have summoned me to do just that.” “You must be a very wise man for all these kings and queens to have called upon your services,” she observed. Again, the man laughed. He had always loved Isabella’s innocence and over the last few years it had been growing in intensity. He was now seeing her as she was before the years of leadership and adversity had taken away that innocence. He was seeing her before the loss of her first true love to the hand of an enemy on a battlefield. Before the loss of her first-born son, the heir to the throne, to the plague. He was now seeing her before she really had any cares in the world beyond finding the perfect shade of blue wildflower to set off her eyes. “I am a very old man,” he replied, “and people seem to feel that when a person has been alive as long as I have, and seen as many things as I, that there must be some wisdom to impart from those experiences. Actually, in my opinion, I am a very foolish old man who enjoys telling stories. The leaders who have summoned me listen to my stories and interpret them as they see fit. Any wisdom that comes from these stories comes from their interpretation of them, not from me.” “But sir,” she argued, “you must have some wisdom to know which story to tell for a given situation.” The man laughed yet again; he was truly enjoying this encounter with the young maiden. “I wouldn’t call it wisdom so much as intuition,” he explained. “They tell me of their troubles, be it personal or political, I listen and then a story just seems to come to me. Sometimes the story is about a similar situation I have run across before and sometimes it seems to have no apparent connection to what they are telling me. Either way, I tell my story and what they do with it from there is all based upon their own wisdom. I could no better tell a great leader what to do then I could choose a flower for your basket.” Isabella glanced down at her basket and then eagerly back into the man’s eyes. “If I were to tell you my troubles would you tell me a story?” she asked. “What troubles could a beautiful young maiden as you possibly have?” he chuckled. “It appears to me that your biggest concern is picking out the proper dress for the ball tonight.” “Please sir,” she pouted, “don’t mock me.” She paused for a moment and then added, “How is it that you know of the ball tonight?” This question caught him off guard, “Errr, um,” he stalled. “Why everyone knows of the prince’s ball, of course.” He knew of the ball for she had told him about it many times, it was one of his favorite stories of hers. How she struggled to finish the flower garland in time, and the butterflies in her stomach as she approached the castle and finally the great ball room. She had told him about laying eyes on the prince for the first time and somehow knowing, in that instant, that they belonged together. She had told him of how she and the prince danced and talked and laughed the night away. And she had told him how, in that one night, she had fallen truly and deeply in love with the man who would become her husband. “Of course,” she said with a little doubt in her voice, “Everyone knows of the ball. But please sir,” she returned to her thought, “tell me a story.” “My dear,” said the man, “you must go prepare for the ball. You don’t have time for a story. Our time together has come to an end, but if you meet me here tomorrow, I will gladly tell you a story.” Isabella glanced at the sun sinking in the sky and said, “Oh my goodness, your right.” She quickly gathered up her basket and sprang to her feet. “But sir,” she realized, “I don’t know your name.” “My name is Merlin,” answered the man. “And I’m Isabella,” she said. “So, I will see you here tomorrow at midday, you promise?” “I promise,” he said. “And you will tell me a story?” “I promise,” he said again with a laugh. “Then I will see you here tomorrow,” she said as she turned and hurried off across the field the way she had come. Just before she reached the path through the woods, she turned again to look at the man and she thought she saw the sun reflect in a tear on his check. She waved to him and he waved back. Then she turned to the path and hurried home to prepare for the ball. “Good-bye, my sweet Isabella,” he said to her back and began to cry openly, for he knew that he would never see her again. Most people know that wizards are immortal but one very important thing that few people know is that while we mortals are traveling forward through time, wizards are actually traveling backwards through time. This is why meeting people for the first time can be very difficult for a wizard. So, if you ever meet an old man who likes to tell stories and he seems to be sad when you part, it just may be. . . .