The Story
The Wanderer and the Two Mountains.
At the edge of the world stood two great mountains, side by side, so old that they remembered when the valleys were young.
A little wanderer came walking with his stick and stood at their feet. "I want to see the sunrise country," he said, "but you are in my way."
"We are not in your way," rumbled the first mountain kindly. "We ARE the way. Climb."
So the wanderer climbed — up the first mountain, higher and higher, until he stood on the very peak with the wind in his hair. Then down into the little valley between, where a spring gave him water. Then up the second mountain, step by step by step, and down its far side into the golden morning.
When he was an old man he drew the journey for his grandchildren with one line: up, down into the valley, up again, and down — and the grandchildren said, "Grandfather, you have drawn a letter!"
"No," said the old wanderer, smiling. "I have drawn two mountains. The letter came to live in them later, the way I once did."