The Water Bearer and The Willow

He carried with him an earthen pitcher, and alone through the wasteland he traveled with only his shadow at his back. His aching and blistered feet somehow continued to carry him despite their exhaustion, and he, the water bearer, could no longer remember a time in which his feet did not hurt. Maybe it was a during a time when his pitcher had been full, when he'd given from it freely? Yes, surely it was then, back before the greed of man drove him into the wasteland. The memory alone caused his brow to crease into a resentful frown and he clutched the pitcher ever tighter, listening to what little water remained sloshing about in the nearly empty vessel.

The sun dipped below the horizon once more, signaling that yet another day of aimless wandering had come to an end. But it was on that night beneath a pale, silvery moon that a distant figure broke the monotony of the barren land. A single dying willow tree stood alone on a distant hill, and against his own distrustful nature, the water bearer approached it.

Broken branches littered the ground around the base of the tree, and among them lay what remained of a bird's nest, carelessly destroyed by those who sought to use the tree's welcoming branches to make weapons; Weapons of death and destruction that would shield their own fragile egos and ideologies. The tree had given up so many parts of itself, and yet it had asked for nothing in return. It had just kept on giving until it was unrecognizable, stripped of its identity.

The water bearer saw parts of himself in the willow, and his heart ached with sympathy. He took a seat beneath its sparse, drooping branches and caught sight of a weak and fading green glow hidden beneath twigs and leaf litter; it was so faint that he'd almost missed it. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the glow belonged to the dying heart of the willow tree, and it was fading fast.

Overcome with an inexplicable urge to protect the dying light, he looked around franticly for a way to save it. He begged and pleaded for it to stay alive, for it to not give up hope, and yet the light continued to fade. Then, without thinking, the water bearer poured the remaining contents of his pitcher onto the base of the willow tree and watched it trickle toward the fading light.

As the last drops left the pitched, the weight of his actions came crashing down on him, and the water bearer realized that once again he had given up more of himself. What remained of his love, his trust, and his very soul had been inside of the pitcher, and yet he had given it up to the dying willow without question. Terrified by his own actions, and fearing that he had once again made a mistake of giving freely when it wasn't deserved, the water bearer retreated into his own mind out of fear, and fell into a deep sleep beneath the willow.

As the night wore on, and the water bearer slept, the willow drank in the life giving water that had been sacrificed so freely. The energy of its life force intensified, glowing ever brighter with each passing minute until it could no longer be contained in its roots alone. How wonderful it was to be alive again, and to have the desire to grow and protect despite its painful past. The once fragile, broken willow unfurled a beautiful, verdant canopy that sheltered the water bearer as he slumbered; ensuring that he was protected from the cold winds of the night. His sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.

Dawn broke, and the water bearer was stirred awake by the familiar sound of water as it dripped and bubbled and trickled around him. Confused, he sat up and was shocked to see the transformation that had happened overnight as he'd slept. The willow had grown to an enormous size, and its roots had searched deep within the earth to find a spring that had now flowed to the surface and quenched the wasteland with life-giving water. But that wasn't all, for he soon discovered his pitcher nestled within the entanglement of roots. His heart swelled with joy to find that the dew dripping from the willow's leaves had filled the pitcher once more, and within it, he sensed his very essence of his soul he'd given so freely the night before. All to save the life of the willow tree.