text: Old fishermen rowed their boats along the quiet banks of the river; which ran through the center of the small village, giving life to the rocky valley. The northern mountain hovered over the quaint village, protecting it from the outside world. Large pines resided along the edge of the rocky mountain, covering the small river and the town along it. A child, his feet bare and muddy, walked along the river watching the fishermen pull in the small fish by net. He soaked in the little sunlight peering through the shady trees, his toes feeling the earth beneath him connecting him with it. He felt the mountain speaking to him, whispering the secrets of the world. His mind filled with the stories of people who he will never meet. The river treaded along beside the curious boy, until, the mountain became silent. The child’s head only filled with the soft touch of flowing water on his ankles. The boy stopped his morning routine and stood still, waiting for another story, even a simple whisper to come. He decided to walk up the bank of the river to the dirt path, few people were out on the streets that morning. It was early, the sun just rose a while before, and the fishermen had just set along for their day. The child sauntered toward the northern mountain hoping for a quiet word from the earth beneath him. The village began to fall behind him as he trudged toward the mountain and out of the town. He walked beside old pastures with rolling hills, that begin to be planted along the mountain edge. The child stopped at the mountains path and listened. He only felt soft wind in the air. The boy began to climb the rocky terrain, his feet blistering from the hot stones on the path. He pushed forward to find something, the boy hadn’t a clue what he was looking for exactly, just something he could call an answer. The boy by noon day stopped at a ledge on the mountain. He could see his entire village, tiny in comparison to the mountain he stood on. He sat to cool his feet, overlooking the town below him. He thought of the mysteries that may hide in the world outside of his small town. “You’re quite young to be a traveler.” A voice from behind startled the boy, he turned and saw an old monk walking from the forest. The boy didn’t say anything, he was surprised to see someone as old as the man was on the mountain. The monk sat beside the young child, his robe green as the pine needles, and brown lace like the earth. The two sat silent for a few minutes, the child could see the monk breathing slowly, taking in the scents of the mountain. “I was surprised you were able to hear me,” said the old monk, the boy wasn’t too surprised. “My voice is soft, and my old age seems to have an effect on it, my words seem to trail off with the wind sometimes.” The child looked back at the village below, he just wanted something to listen to at the moment. “I used to live in the town, I would listen to the fishermen row with the river, and the laughter of the people was beautiful. I would love to just sit back and listen, taking in what I could, the melodies of the town I once knew.” The monk reminisced in gleeful nostalgia. The child was quite jealous, he wished he could hear the town as the old monk. The village seemed quiet to the boy, not much laughter and smiles anymore. “I know the town has become quite silent over the past years. Old traditions become tiresome; the people get caught up in their daily lives until the only sound left is the mountain whispering her secrets.” The monk preached, the boy looked at the old man, happy that the monk heard the mountain too, nobody he knew could hear the mountain. Although the man did surprise the boy, he seemed mysterious and quite obviously was a powerful saint. “Though you know what doesn’t seem to ever change?” the monk asked. “the mountains beauty, it always is a sight to be seen.” The boy looked up, realizing he had been missing the grand picture all along. There was always something to be found in the quiet. The beauty shines through the mountain even when the times change. When the town is silent the mountain is still there to protect us and show the beauty of life that’s worth living. “I can tell you’ve found your answer young child,” the monk said turning to the boy, the child now realizing the monk was blind in both eyes. “Remember, even when there is nothing to hear, there is always something to see, even when you’re as blind as me, or as deaf as you my boy.” The boy stood and signed his ‘thank you’ to the wise old monk, realizing he was the one whispering the mountain’s old stories to him. The child began his trek back to his village, ready to find its silent beauty again.