High in the Mountains of Weepy
by Steve Eberling
Once there was a young boy who lived in the city of Floppy in the country of Weepy, or in short, Floppy, Weepy. Although he was doing well at home and in school, he wanted to learn the meaning of life by seeking out the fabled wise, old man who lived high in the mountains of Weepy. He eagerly told his parents of the decision but they did not seem pleased. It would be much better if he finished school. There are several suitable young women he could choose from for marriage and plenty of good jobs available where he was. The boy exclaimed he was a teenager now, many left home his age and he could not possibly be happy in the city without first exploring the country beyond.
His mother explained the other boys leaving home were not doing as well at school as him and didn’t have his chance being accepted into college. Besides she said, the old man at the top of the mountain is just a legend and a bedtime story. The boy implored, how will I ever know without finding out for myself and promise not to be gone all that long. His dad reasoned his son must do what he must and will come to his senses by the time he returns. They let him supply his backpack and gave him not enough money to get very far.
Upon setting out from flat farmlands the lad first had to choose which way to go and decided to follow the river upstream. Doing other wises certainly would not lead to the mountains. It took several months to reach them. The river continually became smaller as did the towns along the way. He begged for food and worked when he could. No one knew exactly what he meant when asking directions to the wise, old man. Many times they would attempt to send him back the way he came but the lad continued marching on until finally reaching the foothills.
From there the peaks appeared ominous. He’d heard they were majestic but hadn’t imagined them as tall and rugged. It was now late in springtime with snow melting and streams flowing up to their banks. New leaves on aspen trees were budding lime green with wildflowers bounding up everywhere. He hadn’t imagined it quite this beautiful. Roads became trails then paths until disappearing all together. He marched higher and higher until pine trees abruptly gave way to grey, rocky timberline peaks. Still he scrambled on finally reaching the top of the highest mountain. From there he could see a hundred miles in all directions. There the old man was, dressed in furs and chanting.
“Wise One”’ said the lad. “I have come to ask the meaning of life.”
Upon hearing this from the boy, the old man chanting at the top of the mountain replied, “Follow the path most right for you and you will return with the meaning of life.”
The teen began to follow his path in life. He traveled the earth, got married, and held several jobs. He wrote his parents often and occasionally got a reply depending on how long he remained in one location. At times he felt ecstatic, melancholic at others. Time passed until he was no longer young. He was a man now when the meaning of life finally presented itself. Eternity! If there’s not life after passing nothing would then exist, including death.
Soon after this discovery he again set out for the mountains. They did not look as majestic as before after wandering the earth. He’d began the return journey as summer turned to autumn. Leaves on aspen trees were turning vivid yellow and red. Summer flowers were drying turning fragrant purple, red and gold to seed with streams and creeks barely trickles as last winter’s snow since melted. It seemed longer to reach the top of the highest mountain than before. Night’s chill was upon him when he finally arrived, but no one was there.
Distraught he begins the descent down cold and hungry. It doesn’t feel as if he’s been up there that long and seems peculiar aspens leaves are turning brown and falling to the ground. Winter breezes are often accompanied by small flakes of snow. Now he wishes he’d brought heavier clothing but manages by starting fires at night, catching little spotted trout trapped in receding small pools created by wet, shiny rocks in gurgling crystal clear water. Mushrooms left by mountain birds, worms, rodents, elk and deer aren’t all that bad eating. Few chances throwing rocks at chattering grey squirrels with fluffy white tails or a large squatting brown grouse watching with huge pupils and yellow eyes don’t go well. It is easier going down than hiking up until familiar paths and trails disappear with several inches of snow.
Beginning to wonder if this very well might be his final resting place, he finds some amusement rationing whether his theory as to the meaning of life might soon be realized. With no moon twinkling stars fill pitch black above. Prayer never hurts and behold warm lights start glowing through tall, dark trees from a small village below. He once again starts a small fire that pops and cracks as burning branches recede into glowing bright orange embers and builds a lean-to out of pine boughs. Boiling withered dandelion and milk thistle roots offer warmth and some nutrition. Musky smoke from the campfire keep remaining mosquitos and ticks at bay. Attempting the hike would be impossible without daylight.
It is midmorning as a bright, yellow sun shines through a brilliant blue sky attempting to warm frost on the landscape when the guy finally reaches the tiny town. Bugles echo in the distance as bull elk are eager to mate. Soon they will be up to their knees in snow trimming aspen limbs and bark for food.
Lucky to find a small pub open for business early he staggers in immediately backing up to a rock fireplace against a log wall burning in back of the establishment for warmth ordering a hot beverage more substantial than the night before. Happy and beyond amazement there the wise, old man stands dressed in furs playing pool with two beautiful woman on either side of the table, one has jet black hair and the other blonde. They don’t seem cold eyeing their next shot wearing quilted dresses made of colorful intricate designs. The wise old man’s not changed much except for longer, white hair. He’s delightedly doing pretty well playing them at billiards.
“Wise One”, says the man shivering by the fireplace. “I have returned with the meaning of life.”
After several minutes the one playing pool senses the stranger that hasn’t shaved in weeks. Ah, now he remembers the foolish boy from long ago. And the one dressed in furs replies, “But I was just bluffing.”
