The Stonecutter

Once upon a time, there was a man—a regular Joe, you might say—who cut stones for a living. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t famous, but he was happy. Every day, he’d trudge up to the mountain, chip away at the rocks, and lug his blocks to the market, grumbling just a little, “Oh, here we go again.” But deep down, he was content. Or so he thought.

One hot afternoon, as he dragged himself down the mountain, he passed by a grand mansion with a garden so lush it practically had its own climate. There, under a shady tree, lounged a rich man, waving a fan like he was royalty. Servants buzzed around, bringing him cool drinks with little umbrellas and platters stacked with food.

The stonecutter squinted at the scene, scratching his head. “Now, why does HE get all the snacks and shade?” he muttered. “If I were rich, I’d be living the good life too! No more chipping rocks, just lounging like a lazy lion!”

Well, wouldn’t you know it, the mountain’s spirit—a rather mischievous character, with a talent for surprises—heard him. Poof! Suddenly, the stonecutter wasn’t just any old stonecutter. He was rich. He had servants, a fancy robe with sleeves so big he could practically fly in them, and a grand house with a fountain that sprayed water everywhere.

“Ahhh, finally! I’ve made it,” he sighed, sinking into his new armchair. “Life is good.”

But after a few days of being pampered and nibbling on fancy chocolates, he peered out his window and spotted… the king’s palace. “Woah,” he whispered, eyes widening. “That’s bigger than my house, and is that… gold? Real, shiny, sparkly GOLD?”

A little sigh escaped him. “If I were the king, I’d be really happy. That’s the big leagues.”

And just like that, the mountain spirit, with a chuckle that sounded suspiciously like the wind, transformed him into a king. He was dressed head to toe in royal purple, with a crown that was heavy enough to double as a kettlebell. He sat on a throne so big he practically had to climb up into it.

“Now THIS is more like it,” he said, waving his arms. “Bring me cake! No, bring me TWO cakes! And can we get some more pillows in here? Something fluffy.”

For a while, he enjoyed being king, but then something quite troubling happened. The sun came out—bright and blazing—and turned his grand palace into a giant royal oven. The poor guy was roasting in his robe and crown.

“Who let the sun crank up the heat?!” he moaned. “If I were the sun, I’d be the strongest thing in the world!”

And sure enough, the mountain spirit gave him a cosmic promotion. In a flash, he was up in the sky, a blazing ball of light, shining on all the earth. People down below hid in the shade, sweating and shaking fists at him.

“Ha! Look at them scurrying around! I’m unstoppable!” he chuckled.

But then, a plucky little cloud drifted right in front of him, blocking his light. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to puff himself up. “Do you mind moving? I’m trying to be the sun here.”

The cloud, however, just floated around, doing its own thing, and completely ignored him.

“Oh, for the love of sunshine!” he groaned. “If I were a cloud, I’d be even more powerful!”

And poof! The spirit of the mountain made him a cloud. He floated around the sky, casting shade wherever he pleased and sending down rain like he was a walking sprinkler.

“Now we’re talking!” he said, proudly rumbling with thunder. “Everyone has to run when I bring the rain!”

But as he rained on the mountain, he noticed that the mountain just stood there, calm and steady, completely unfazed by his best storm.

“Now, come on, that’s just unfair,” he grumbled. “This mountain is tougher than I am! If I were a mountain, then I’d REALLY be the most powerful.”

With a chuckle, the mountain spirit finally made him a mighty mountain. He was solid, towering, and unmoving. He could see for miles, and nothing—not even the toughest storm—could shake him.

“Now THIS is power!” he boomed, feeling quite grand.

But before he could settle in for a long, quiet mountain life, he heard a familiar sound… tap-tap-tap! Looking down, he saw a stonecutter, chipping away at his side.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he called down. “Hey, hey, let’s not chip away at the mountain. That’s me now!”

But the stonecutter just kept going, whistling as he worked. And suddenly, the mountain thought, “The stonecutter has the last laugh here! If I were the stonecutter… I’d be happy just doing what I know best.”

And with a final chuckle, the mountain spirit granted his wish. The man was back to being a simple stonecutter, wearing his old, comfy boots and carrying his trusty tools.

He looked around, smiling. “Well, what do you know? I think I’m good just the way I am.”

And from that day on, he cut stones, whistled his tune, and never wished to be anyone else again.

A stonecutter worked by mountain's side,
With simple tools and humble pride.
Each day he'd cut his stones to sell,
And in his heart, he felt all well.

One day he saw a rich man rest,
In silk and shade, his life seemed blessed.
“Oh, if I were rich!” he sighed with glee,
“Then happiness would come to me.”

The mountain spirit heard his plea,
And granted his wish so magically.
In wealth he woke, with food and cheer,
“Now I am happy here!”

But soon he spied a palace grand,
A golden throne, so fine, so grand.
“If I were king!” he thought aloud,
“Then I'd be happy, tall and proud!”

Again the spirit heard his call,
And made him king within the hall.
But then the sun, so hot and bright,
Forced him to hide from blinding light.

“If I were the sun,” he thought with glee,
“I’d shine above, so wild and free!”
So he became the sun so high,
Casting warmth across the sky.

But clouds rolled in, both dark and strong,
Blocking his light, all day long.
“If I were a cloud, so big and bold,
I’d bring cool rains and skies of gold!”

So as a cloud, he poured down rain,
And watched it splash on roof and lane.
Yet the mountain stood, steady and tall,
Unaffected by rain's strong thrall.

“Oh, to be the mountain wide,
Stronger than the storms I guide!”
And so he turned to rock and stone,
Mighty, firm, and all alone.

But a chip, chip, chipping sound arose,
A stonecutter’s tool made blows.
The man then laughed and sighed with glee,
Knowing now who he wished to be.

Back to his life, his joy was found,
In simple work, on solid ground.
For he had learned, in every way,
That being himself brought joy each day.