A Parable About Relaxation

There once was a young man who lived in the town.
But who loved the woods.
He worked in a counting house.
At a small wooden desk.
Amidst many other small wooden desks.
He inscribed ledgers all day long.
He balanced books and kept accounts.
He did not like his work or dislike his work.
He felt a reserved apathy for what he did.
Cloistered as he was in the church of numbers.
He felt the humdrum was his destiny.
He could remember a time when he had ambition.
He could remember a time when he had dreams.
But that time seemed far away.
Separated by days and days of record keeping.
He was shackled by routine.
Restricted by the comfort of gainful employment.
One day his grandfather passed away after a long illness.
It was sad.
But not so sad for his grandfather had lead a long and colorful life.
His grandfather left the young man a cottage in the woods and a year's wage.
The young man quit his job in the counting house.
And went to live in his cottage in the woods.
He spent a year there.
Some days he would simply wander.
Soaking in the quiet of the woods as the leaves gently rubbed together ushered by the wind.
Other days he wood make a fire.
And cook stew from carrots, wild mushrooms, and rabbits he had snared.
Others he would find a lonely pond and sit silently all afternoon keeping it company.
He rarely saw anyone.
He rarely missed a soul.
The cool and calm of the woods gradually purged his bone-deep fatigue.
The young man felt ambition and desire kindle anew within him.
After a year the young man returned to the town.
And he saw it with fresh and lively eyes.
No longer did he see the intersecting streets as criss-crossed ropes in an inevitable net.
No longer did he see mundaneness and foreboding.
Upon his return he saw only opportunity.
And the possibility of triumph.