December 5, 1998
The Golden City
A lonely man of long ago walked into the desert a long time ago. His journey was to be his end; he would travel till he met his end. A week into the journey, his food ran out. The next day his waterskins emptied. Death would be soon, and he would finally fully abandon his horrible life.
Two days later, his life clinging to him by a thin mucal band, he crawled into a valley. To his surprise, he found a vibrant pocket of life fed by numerous oasis springs, a mere speck of green upon a field burnt tan. Beasts of land and air congregated here. The birds sang melodious tunes of a maiden dancing to the dulcimer and her flashing eyes and floating hair. Sweet smells of crisp water sent aloft by the gurgling springs intermixed the perfumes of fruit and blossoms, lightly dusting the scent along the air. Fish leapt from the pools to sparkle fleetingly in the glow of the sun. A cool wind blew down the valley walls, for this was Paradise.
So enamored was the man of this secret land, for no map he knew of mentioned it, that he drank hearty of the mineral waters and grew strong again from the luscious pulpy fruit of the trees. He set immediately to building a house for himself, for though he had left a past behind, he was no longer set in mind to end life as well. He finished the house, but busied himself more and more in building a city. Great walls and towers he erected, carved straight from the stone of the surrounding cliffs. Magnificent spires ands sculptures he crafted to capture the beauty of his refuge in the world. A metalsmith by trade, he hammered out melodious bells not imitate or overwhelmed the inherent music, but to add an another voice in the valley's symphony.
In the tallest tower, he hung the bells to capture the breeze. He heard them chime once, and in his aged years, for he had spent over fifty years in the valley, he died. The coming months and times held a change over the valley, for the harsh heat, sun, and sand began to bite away at the hidden utopia. Walls crumbled and trees withered. Soon, the dunes had grown over the land, and the desert's complexion was cleared of the green blemish.
In the end, had the man made any difference, save to himself? The great beauty and city he had lived and worked for had ended with no one else knowing. Perhaps it appeared in the dreams of friends and loved ones left behind, but no one ever felt the awe that the man had in his years. He had made no difference.
But in the light of happier endings always coming true, another traveler who had lost his way in life and sought finality out among the dunes, staggered his way across where the valley had been. His foot catches on a strange mound, which he digs up to discover a small bell, no bigger than his fist. With a light tap of the finger, a song echoed across the wasteland that sang of life and cool peace. The tone carried for an inestimable beautiful length of time, eventually silencing only to the ear, but not the heart. The man turned around.
Motto: No toil is without its effect.