Story from a young farmhand
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Why is my energy so low these day? The only thing that I look forward to, that gets me off my mattress at sunup, is the thought of the music at the teahouse in the evening. I find it best not to think about about all the weeds I must pull from the field before the day is done. I keep dreaming that I'm sitting at the rudder of a small boat. A billowing white sail above me. My arm is on the tiller. In the fore, in its oil skin wrapper, lies a lyre and a weave scroll of sheet music. I am looking for an island somewhere just beyond the horizon. I am hoping to find it before the sun goes to sleep below the waves. Suddenly the wind dies. The sail, just moments ago so full of life, slackens. I wake up. My sheets are covered in sweat.