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Beneath the Village Well
Beneath the Village Well
1 min
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Every morning, the village well filled before the pots did.
Women laughed.
Children argued.
An old man gave advice no one had asked for.
A little girl struggled to lift her water pot.
Before she could try again,
a young shepherd picked it up and placed it gently upon her head.
She smiled.
He smiled.
No one applauded.
No one spoke.
They simply walked home.
The old man watched them leave.
Then he said,
"A village is not known by the size of its houses.
It is known by how quickly one hand finds another."
The rope slid once more into the well.
Water rose.
Voices rose.
Morning rose.
And beneath the village well,
kindness arrived before everyone returned home.
