Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome back to Sleepy Stories. I'm your host, Lucy,
and my friends and I will be reading you a
sleepy bedtime story every week to relax you and to
help you to drift off into a RESTful sleep. From
time to time, we will also read you a relaxing,
peaceful meditation that will take you somewhere beautiful and calming.
Once we have read the stories, we will then read
them a second time, but this time they will be
ready even slower. This will help you to relax even more.
Before we begin, I would like you to close your
eyes and breathe in and out nice and deeply. Take
a few seconds to inhale, and then hold your breath
for a few seconds more, and then release and breathe out.
Do this a few times if you need to. While
you listen to the music and you listen to my voice,
give yourself time to let your body relax and your
mind settle. It's important that we allow time for us
to feel safe, cozy, and completely at ease. And now
it's time for this week's story.
Speaker 2: Long ago, when the villages surrounding Mount Fuji were lit
by paper lanterns instead of electric lights, and narrow stone
paths wound quietly between fields of rice and wildflowers. There
lived a boy named Haru. Haru was known throughout his
village for asking questions. He wanted to know why cranes
always return and in spring, why the cherry blossoms fell
all at once instead of one petal at a time,
why rivers always found the sea, and most of all,
why Mount Fuji seemed different every morning. Some days, its
snow covered peak shone brilliant white beneath a blue sky.
Other mornings, it disappeared behind silver mist, as though it
had quietly wandered somewhere else while everyone slept. The elder smiled.
Whenever Haru asked, Fuji keeps her own secrets, they would say,
only those with a patient heart may discover them. Haru
wondered what that meant. He imagined hidden caves filled with
glowing crystals, ancient dragons sleeping beneath the mountain, kings who
had vanished centuries ago, or perhaps an invisible kingdom resting
somewhere above the clouds. Every evening, after helping his grandfather
tend the vegetable garden, Haru would climb a grassy hill
overlooking the village there, he would watch the mountain until
the stars appeared. His grandfather would eventually call him home.
You'll wear holes in the mountain if you keep staring
at it. I think it's trying to tell me something,
Haru would reply. His grandfather would laugh softly. Then, one day,
perhaps you'll understand its language. One autumn afternoon, while collecting
mushrooms in the cedar forest, Haru discovered something unusual. At
the foot of an ancient stone shrine lay a single feather.
It shimmered with colors unlike any bird he had ever seen, silver, gold, blue.
Even when clouds covered the sun, the feather glowed gently.
He picked it up. It felt surprisingly warm. As soon
as he touched it, a breeze swept through the forest.
The tall cedar trees swayed together, although moments before the
air had been perfectly still. Leaves spiraled around him. Somewhere
deeper among the trees came the clear sound of a bell,
just one note, then silence. Haru looked around, no one,
only the whispering forest. He slipped the feather carefully inside
his satchel. That night, he placed it beside his bed
as moonlight streamed through the paper window the feather glimmered
once more. Then something extraordinary happened. Tiny golden lights drifted
from it into the air. Not sparks, not dust. They
floated like little stars. The lights gathered near the window
before drifting outside. Haru hurried after them. They floated across
sleeping gardens, over little bridges, and along quiet streams until
they reached the village gate. There they simply vanished. On
the ground where they disappeared lay a folded piece of paper.
Haru picked it up. Written in beautiful, flowing ink, were
only seven words. Come before sunrise, climb with an open heart.
There was no name, no signature, only a tiny drawing
of Mount Fuji beneath the words. Before dawn the next morning,
Haru quietly dressed. His grandfather was already awake. The old
man seemed unsurprised, so he said, while pouring tea, the
mountain has invited you. Haru blinked, you knew, His grandfather smiled.
When I was your age, I waited every evening for
such an invitation. You received one. No, were you disappointed?
For a little while he looked toward Mount Fuji glowing
beneath the stars. Then I realized that invitations are not rewards.
They arrive only when someone has forgotten to expect them.
Haru wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but somehow it
sounded important. His grandfather handed him a small cloth bundle.
Inside were rice balls, pickled plums, roasted chestnuts, and a
tiny wooden cup. Whatever you find, the old man said,
remember that the mountain notices how travelers treat others more
than how quickly they climb. The first rays of sunlight
painted the sky pale gold. As Haru reached the beginning
of the trail, many people were already climbing, strong merchants,
proud young warriors, pilgrims carrying walking staffs. Everyone seemed eager
to reach the summit first. Some hurried past without speed.
Others laughed at the small village boy carrying only a
simple satchel. One particularly wealthy traveler chuckled, you'll never reach
the top before sunset. Harw smiled politely, I'm not racing anyone.
The man laughed, even harder, then you'll certainly lose. Harrw
continued walking. The forest gradually grew quieter. Tall cedars gave
way to ancient pines whose branches twisted gracefully toward the sky.
Birdsong echoed between moss covered rocks. Small streams crossed the path.
Everything felt peaceful. Then he noticed some one sitting alone
beside the trail, an elderly woman. Her basket had broken.
Bright red apples had rolled everywhere down the hillside. Dozens
of climbers hurried past. No one stopped. Some stepped around
the apples without even looking. Haru immediately knelt beside her.
Together they gathered every apple. He repaired the basket using
a length of twine from his satchel. The woman smiled kindly,
you've lost precious climbing time. I don't mind. She looked
directly into his eyes. Many people believe reaching the summit
is the journey. She handed him a perfectly smooth white stone.
But sometimes the summit begins much earlier. Before Haru could
thank her properly, another group of travelers blocked his view.
When they passed, the old woman had disappeared. Only a
few drifting leaves remained where she had been sitting. By midday,
the path became steeper, Clouds drifted below him. Now, the
villages looked tiny, The air smelled wonderfully fresh. Haru paused
beside a crystal clear spring bubbling from black volcanic rock.
He remembered the little wooden cup his grandfather had packed.
As he filled it with water, he noticed movement. Nearby.
A young fox had become trapped beneath a fallen branch.
Its leg wasn't badly hurt, but it couldn't free itself again.
Other climbers ignored it. One even muttered leave it wild
animals belonged to the mountain. Haru carefully lifted the branch.
The fox limped free instead of running away. Immediately, it
looked back. Its amber eyes shone almost like the mysterious feather.
Then it disappeared into the trees. As Haru prepared to continue,
he noticed something lying where the fox had stood, a
tiny maple leaf. Unlike ordinary leaves, it was made entirely
of crimson crystal. When sunlight touched it, hundreds of tiny
rainbows danced across the rocks. He tucked it carefully beside
the white stone. Two mysterious gifts neither explained. Higher still,
the trees slowly disappeared. The landscape changed into fields of
volcanic stone. The wind became cooler. Clouds rolled gently below
the mountain slopes like an endless white ocean. For the
first time, Haru realized just how enormous Mount Fuji truly was.
He suddenly felt very small, very ordinary, very far from home.
As evening approached, he reached a lonely mountain shelter where
travelers rested overnight before attempting the final climb. Inside everyone
talked excitedly. Some boasted about how quickly they had climbed.
Others argued over whose equipment was finest. One merchant proudly
displayed a heavy bag filled with glittering gemstones he claimed
to have found near the trail. Another insisted there was
an even greater treasure hidden at the summit. Haru quietly
ate one of his rice balls beside the window. Outside.
The sun slowly disappeared behind distant mountains. The sky glowed
deep orange, then pink, then violet. Finally, darkness settled across
the land. Thousands of stars appeared. Never before had Haru
seen so many. The mountains seemed suspended between heaven and Earth.
Unable to sleep, he stepped outside. The air was perfectly still.
Then he heard it, the same single bell that had
echoed through the forest days before, soft clear. Somewhere above,
he looked towards the sun. It far in the distance.
A line of tiny golden lanterns was moving silently upward.
No voices, no footsteps, just floating lights disappearing into the darkness.
Then one lantern stopped, turned and seemed to be waiting.
The lantern waited. Haru blinked, wondering if he had imagined it.
The tiny golden light hovered in the darkness for another
moment before slowly continuing upward. Without thinking, Haru followed. The
trail was quiet now. Everyone else in the shelter had
gone to sleep, hoping to rise before dawn and race
for the summit. Only the stars watched as Haru climbed.
The higher he went, the quieter the mountain became. Even
the wind seemed to whisper instead of blow. Soon, the
ordinary path ended at an ancient stone tory gate that
Haru was certain had not been there earlier that day.
Its wooden beams were weathered with age, and tiny bells
hung from each corner. They chimed gently, although the air
was perfectly still. The golden lantern drifted through the gate.
Haru hesitated, then he remembered the note climb with an
open heart. Taking a slow breath, he stepped beneath the gate.
Immediately the world changed. The rocky path became smooth. Tiny
flowers grew between the stones, glowing faintly in shades of
silver and blue. The stars above appeared brighter than ever before,
and the air carried the sweet scent of pine and
blossomed together. Though neither should have grown at such a height.
As Haru rounded a bend, he gasped spread across a
wide plateau. Hidden beneath the summit was a beautiful garden,
unlike anything he had ever imagined. Cherry trees bloomed although
it was autumn. Crystal streams shimmered beneath little wooden bridges.
Hundreds of glowing landss floated through the air without strings. Foxes, cranes,
deer and rabbits wandered peacefully together. Near the center of
the garden stood an old man dressed in robes the
color of morning clouds. His long white hair reached almost
to his waist, and he leaned upon a polished walking
staff carved with tiny mountains. He smiled as though he
had been expecting Haru all along welcome, He said, you
have climbed well. Haru bowed politely. I haven't reached the
summit yet, the old man chuckled. Many people reached the top.
He looked around the peaceful garden. Very few arrive here.
The old man invited Haru to walk beside him. As
they wandered through the hidden kingdom, Haru noticed something remarkable.
Every flower seemed to glow slightly brighter whenever someone smiled,
The streams sparkled whenever laughter echoed through the trees, even
the lanterns drifted closer whenever kindness was shown. Who lives here,
Haru asked, The mountain remembers every good deed ever performed
upon its paths, replied the old man, acts of kindness
never truly disappear. They simply find their way here. Haru
looked around in amazement. So this place exists because people
have been kind for hundreds of years, the old man smiled.
And it grows a little more beautiful every day. Soon
they reached a wide stone table. Upon it rested three objects,
a crown made of gold, a chest overflowing with glittering jewels,
and a tiny wooden seed. The old man folded his hands.
You may choose only one. Harw looked first at the crown.
What would happen if I chose this? You would become famous,
and the treasure you would never worry about money again.
Haru then picked up the tiny seed. It was warm
in his hand. What does this one do? The old
man smiled. It will grow only where kindness lives. Harw frowned.
It doesn't sound very valuable, not to everyone. The boy
thought for a long time. He imagined his grandfather's little garden,
the elderly woman whose apples had fallen, the trapped fox,
the mysterious gifts tucked safely inside his satchel. At last,
he placed the crown back upon the table, then the chest.
I choose the seed. The old man's eyes twinkled, I
wondered if you might. The gardens suddenly filled with soft
golden light. The lanterns floated higher into the sky. The
fox Haru had rescued, appeared from between the trees. The
elderly woman stepped from behind a blossom covered archway. Both
smiled you, Haru whispered. The woman laughed gently. The mountain
likes to greet its visitors in unexpected ways. The fox shimmered.
For a brief moment, it became a young woman dressed
in robes at the color of autumn leaves, before returning
once again to its fox form. Haru could hardly believe
what he was seeing. You were testing me, no, said
the old man kindly. We were simply giving you chances
to be yourself. As dawn began to color the eastern sky,
the old man walked Haru to the edge of the
hidden Garden. It is time for you to return, but
no one will believe me. They don't need to. He
handed Haru the smooth white stone, the crystal maple leaf,
and the tiny seed. They will remind you that every
journey offers a choice. The old man pointed toward the horizon.
Many people climb mountains, hoping to stand above everyone else else,
but the wisest travelers climb so they can see Father
and help others find the way. With that, the hidden
garden slowly faded like morning mist. When Haru reached the
true summit, dozens of climbers were already celebrating. Some proudly
declared they had arrived first. Others admired the view while
counting the treasures they believed they had discovered along the trail.
No one noticed the small village boy quietly smiling beside
the clouds. Haru looked around. The stone gate was gone.
There was no hidden garden, only the peaceful summit of
Mount Fuji. He wondered from moment if it had all
been a dream. Then he reached into his satchel, the
white stone, the crystal maple leaf, and the tiny seed
was still there. When Haru returned home, his grandfather was
waiting outside the cottage. You found it, the old man said.
Harw blinked, you knew. His grandfather smiled. I hoped. Together
they planted the tiny seed beside the vegetable garden. Nothing happened,
not that day, not the next winter arrived, snow covered
the ground. Then, one warm spring morning, Haru stepped outside
and stopped in amazement. Where they had planted the seed
now stood the most beautiful cherry tree anyone in the
village had ever seen. Its blossoms glowed softly in the
morning sunlight. Travelers passing through often rested beneath its branches.
Neighbours gathered there to share food, tell stories, and help
one another. Children played happily in its shade, and somehow
anyone who sat beneath the tree always seemed to leave
with a lighter heart than when they had arrived. Years later,
people came from distant villages simply to see the remarkable
cherry tree. Many asked harw what made it so special.
He always smiled and gave the same answer, It grows
from kindness. Some believed him, others simply admired the blossoms,
but Haru never minded. He had learned something far greater
than the secret of Mount Fuji. He had discovered that
the highest places in the world are not reached by
climbing above others, but by lifting others as we climb.
And if on a perfectly still evening you ever walk
the ancient paths of Mount Fuji just before sunrise, you
may hear a single bell carried gently on the wind,
and perhaps, if your heart is open, you may even
glimpse one small golden land waiting patiently around the next bend.
Long ago, when the villages surrounding Mount Fuji were lit
by paper lanterns instead of electric lights, and narrow stone
paths wound quietly between fields of rice and wildflowers, there
lived a boy named Haru. Haru was known throughout his
village for asking questions. He wanted to know why cranes
always returned in spring, why the cherry blossoms fell all
at once instead of one petal at a time, why
rivers always found the sea, and most of all, why
Mount Fuji seemed different every morning. Some days, its snow
covered peak shone brilliant white beneath a blue sky. Other mornings,
it disappeared behind silver mist, as though it had quietly
wandered somewhere else while everyone slept. The elder smiled. Whenever
Haru asked, Fuji keeps her own secrets, they would say,
only those with a patient heart may discover them. Haru
wondered what that meant. He imagined hidden caves filled with
glowing crystals, ancient dragons sleeping beneath the mountain, kings who
had vanished centuries ago, or perhaps an invisible kingdom resting
somewhere above the clouds. Every evening, after helping his grandfather
tend the vegetable garden, Haru would climb a grassy hill
overlooking the village. There he would watch the mountain until
the stars appeared. His grandfather would eventually call him home.
You'll wear holes in the mountain if you keep staring
at it. I think it's trying to tell me something,
Haru would reply. His grandfather would laugh softly. Then one day,
perhaps you'll understand its language. One autumn afternoon, while collecting
mushrooms in the cedar forest, Haru discovered something unusual. At
the foot of an ancient stone shrine lay a single feather.
It shimmered with colors unlike any bird he had ever seen, silver, gold, blue.
Even when clouds covered the sun, the feather glowed gently.
He picked it up. It felt surprisingly warm. As soon
as he touched it, a breeze swept through the forest.
The tall cedar trees swayed together, although moments before the
air had been perfectly still. Leaves spiraled around him. Somewhere
deeper among the trees came the clear sound of a bell,
just one note, then silence. Haru looked around, no one,
only the whispering forest. He slipped the feather carefully inside
his satchel. That night, he placed it beside his bed.
As moonlight streamed through the paper window, the feather glimmered
once more. Then something extraordinary happened. Tiny golden lights drifted
from it into the air. Not sparks, not dust. They
floated like little stars. The lights gathered near the window
before drifting outside. Haru hurried after them. They floated across
sleeping gardens, over little bridges, and along quiet streams until
they reached the village gate. There they simply vanished. On
the ground. Where they disappeared lay a folded piece of paper.
Haru picked it up. Written in beautiful flowing ink, were
only seven words, Come before sunrise, climb with an open heart.
There was no name, no signature, only a tiny drawing
of Mount Fuji beneath the words. Before dawn the next morning,
Haru quietly dressed. His grandfather was already awake. The old
man seemed unsurprised, so he said, while pouring tea, the
mountain has invited you. Harw blinked, you knew, his grandfather smiled.
When I was your age, I waited every evening for
such an invitation. You received one. No, were you disappointed?
For a little while he looked toward Mount Fuji glowing
beneath the stars. Then I realized that invitations are not rewards.
They arrive only when someone has forgotten to expect them.
Harw wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but somehow it
sounded important. His grandfather handed him a small cloth bundle.
Inside were rice balls, pickled plums, roasted chestnuts, and tiny
wooden cup. Whatever you find, the old man said, remember
that the mountain notices how travelers treat others more than
how quickly they climb. The first rays of sunlight painted
the sky pale gold. As Haru reached the beginning of
the trail, many people were already climbing. Strong merchants, proud
young warriors, pilgrims carrying walking staffs. Everyone seemed eager to
reach the summit first. Some hurried past without speaking. Others
laughed at the small village boy carrying only a simple satchel.
One particularly wealthy traveler chuckled, you'll never reach the before sunset.
Harrow smiled politely. I'm not racing anyone. The man laughed
even harder. Then you'll certainly lose. Harw continued walking. The
forest gradually grew quieter. Tall cedars gave way to ancient
pines whose branches twisted gracefully toward the sky. Birdsong echoed
between moss covered rocks. Small streams crossed the path. Everything
felt peaceful. Then he noticed someone sitting alone beside the trail,
an elderly woman. Her basket had broken. Bright red apples
had rolled everywhere down the hillside. Dozens of climbers hurried past.
No one stopped. Some stepped around the apples without even looking.
Haru immediately knelt beside her. Together they gathered every apple.
He repaired the basket using a length of twine from
his satchel. The woman smiled kindly, you've lost precious climbing time.
I don't mind. She looked directly into his eyes. Many
people believe reaching the summit is the journey. She handed
him a perfectly smooth white stone, But sometimes the summit
begins much earlier. Before Haru could thank her properly, another
group of travelers blocked his view. When they passed, the
old woman had disappeared. Only a few drifting leaves remained
where she had been sitting. By midday, the path became steeper.
Clouds drifted below him. Now the villages looked tiny, the
air smelled wonderfully fresh. Harry paused beside a crystal clear
spring bubbling from black volcanic rock. He remembered the little
wooden cup his grandfather had packed. As he filled it
with water, he noticed movement nearby. A young fox had
become trapped beneath a fallen branch. Its leg wasn't badly hurt,
but it couldn't free itself again. Other climbers ignored it.
One even muttered leave it wild animals belonged to the mountain.
Harw carefully lifted the branch. The fox limped free instead
of running away. Immediately, it looked back, Its amber eyes
shone almost like the mysterious feather. Then it disappeared into
the trees. As Haru prepared to continue, he noticed something
lying where the fox had stood, a tiny maple leaf.
Unlike ordinary leaves, it was made entirely of crimson crystal.
When sunlight touched it, hundreds of tiny rainbows danced across
the rocks. He tucked it carefully beside the white stone
two mysterious gifts. Neither explained. Higher still, the trees slowly disappeared,
The landscape changed into fields of volcanic stone, The wind
became cooler. Clouds rolled gently below the mountain slopes like
an endless white ocean. For the first time, Haru realized
just how enormous Mount Fuji truly was. He suddenly felt
very small, very ordinary, very far from home. As evening approached,
he reached a lonely mountain shep Delta, where travelers rested
overnight before attempting the final climb. Inside, everyone talked excitedly.
Some boasted about how quickly they had climbed. Others argued
over whose equipment was finest. One merchant proudly displayed a
heavy bag filled with glittering gemstones he claimed to have
found near the trail. Another insisted there was an even
greater treasure hidden at the summit. Haru quietly ate one
of his rice balls beside the window. Outside, the sun
slowly disappeared behind distant mountains. The sky glowed deep orange,
then pink, then violet. Finally, darkness settled across the land.
Thousands of stars appeared. Never before had Haru seen so many.
The mountain seemed suspended between heaven and Earth. Unable to sleep,
he stepped outside. The air was perfectly still. Then he
heard it, the same single bell that had echoed through
the forest days before, soft clear somewhere above. He looked
toward the summit, far in the distance, a line of
tiny golden lanterns was moving silently upward. No voices, no footsteps,
just floating lights disappearing into the darkness. Then one lantern stopped,
turned and seemed to be waiting. The lantern waited. Haru blinked,
wondering if he had imagined it. The tiny golden light
hovered in the darkness for another moment before slowly continuing upward.
Without thinking, Haru followed. The trail was quiet now, everyone
else in the shelter had gone to sleep, hoping to
rise before dawn and race for the summit. Only the
stars watched as Haru climbed. The higher he went, the
quieter the mountain became. Even the wind seemed to whisper
instead of blow. Soon, the ordinary path ended at an
ancient stone tory gait that Haru was certain had not
been there earlier that day. Its wooden beams were weathered
with age, and tiny bells hung from each corner. They
chimed gently, although the air was perfectly still. The golden
lantern drifted through the gate. Haru hesitated, then he remembered
the note climb with an open heart. Taking a slow breath,
he stepped beneath the gate. Immediately the world changed. The
rocky path became smooth. Tiny flowers grew between the stones,
glowing faintly in shades of silver and blue. The stars
above appeared brighter than ever before, and the air carried
the sweet scent of pine and blossomed together. Though neither
should have grown at such a height. As Haru rounded
a bend, he gasped. Spread across a wide plateau. Hidden
beneath the summit was a beautiful garden, unlike anything he
had ever imagined. Cherry trees bloomed although it was autumn.
Crystal streams shimmered beneath little wooden bridges. Hundreds of glowing
lanterns floated through the air without strings. Foxes, cranes, deer,
and rabbits wandered peacefully together. Near the center of the
garden stood an old man dressed in robes the color
of morning clouds. His long white hair reached almost to
his waist, and he leaned upon a polished walking staff
carved with tiny mountains. He smiled as though he had
been expecting Haru all along. Welcome, he said, you have
climbed well, Haru bowed politely. I haven't reached the summit,
Yet the old man chuckled. Many people reached the top.
He looked around the peaceful garden. Very few arrive here.
The old man invited Haru to walk beside him. As
they wandered through the hidden kingdom, Haru noticed something remarkable.
Every flower seemed to glow slightly brighter whenever someone smiled.
The streams sparkled, whenever laughter echoed through the trees, Even
the lanterns drifted closer whenever kindness was shown. Who lives here?
Haru asked, The mountain remembers every good deed ever performed
upon its paths, replied the old man, acts of kindness
never truly disappear. They simply find their way here. Haru
looked around in amazement. So this place exists because people
have been kind for hundreds of years, the old man smiled,
And it grows a little more beautiful every day. Soon
they reached a wide stone table. Upon it rested three objects,
a crown made of gold, a chest overflowing with glittering jewels,
and a tiny wooden seed. The old man folded his hands.
You may choose only one. Harw looked first at the crown.
What would happen. If I chose this, you would become famous,
and the treasure you would never worry about money again.
Haru then picked up the tiny seed. It was warm
in his hand. What does this one do, the old
man smiled. It will grow only where kindness lives. Haru frowned.
It doesn't sound very valuable, not to everyone. The boy
thought for a long time. He imagined his grandfather's little garden,
the elderly woman whose apples had fallen, the trapped fox,
the mysterious gifts tucked safely inside his satchel. At last,
he placed the crown back upon the table, then the chest.
I choose the seed. The old man's eyes twinkled. I
wondered if you might. The garden suddenly filled with soft
golden light, the lanterns floating higher into the sky. The
fox Haru had rescued appeared from between the trees. The
elderly woman stepped from behind a blossom covered archway. Both
smiled you, Haru whispered. The woman laughed gently. The mountain
likes to greet its visitors in unexpected ways. The fox
shimmered for a brief moment, it became a young woman
dressed in robes at the color of autumn leaves, before
returning once again to its fox form. Haru could hardly
believe what he was seeing. You were testing me, no,
said the old man kindly. We were simply giving you chance, says,
to be yourself. As dawn began to color the eastern sky,
the old man walked Haru to the edge of the
hidden Garden. It is time for you to return, but
no one will believe me. They don't need to. He
handed Haru the smooth white stone, the crystal maple leaf,
and the tiny seed. They will remind you that every
journey offers a choice. The old man pointed toward the horizon.
Many people climb mountains, hoping to stand above everyone else,
but the wisest travelers climb so they can see father
and help others find the way. With that, the hidden
garden slowly faded like morning mis When Haru reached the
true summit, dozens of climbers were already celebrating. Some proudly
declared they had arrived first. Others admired the view while
counting the treasures they believed they had discovered along the trail.
No one noticed the small village boy quietly smiling beside
the clouds. Haru looked around. The stone gate was gone.
There was no hidden garden, only the peaceful summit of
Mount Fuji. He wondered for a moment if it had
all been a dream. Then he reached into his satchel.
The white stone, the crystal maple leaf, and the tiny
seed was still there. When Haru returned home, his grandfather
was waiting outside the cottage. You found it, the old
man said. Haru blinked, you knew. His grandfather smiled. I hoped.
Together they planted the tiny seed beside the vegetable garden.
Nothing happened, not that day, not the next winter arrived,
snow covered the ground. Then, one warm spring morning, Haru
stepped outside and stopped in amazement. Where they had planted
the seed, now stood the most beautiful cherry tree anyone
in the village had ever seen. Its blossoms glowed softly
in the morning sunlight. Travelers passing through often rested beneath
its branches. Neighbors gathered there to share food, tell stories,
and help one another. Children played happily in its shade,
And somehow anyone who sat beneath the tree always seemed
to leave with a lighter heart than when they had arrived.
Years later, people came from distant villages simply to see
the remarkable cherry tree. Many asked Haru what made it
so special. He always smiled and gave the same answer,
It grows from kindness. Some believed him, others admired the blossoms,
but Haru never minded. He had learned something far greater
than the secret of Mount Fuji. He had discovered that
the highest places in the world are not reached by
climbing above others, but by lifting others as we climb.
And if on a perfectly still evening you ever walk
the ancient paths of Mount Fuji just before sunrise, you
may hear a single bell carried gently on the wind.
And perhaps, if your heart is open, you may even
glimpse one small golden lantern waiting patiently around the next bend.
Speaker 3: Spot the time super super st stop stop stoo