‘Tickling Butterflies’ – The Crops of Music

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so farThe story continues:


The Crops of Music

(Containing a surprising life-lesson of an old man who has found his purpose.)


For an entire month, Chariot had been kept imprisoned by the old man, Farmer Moozik, in a house made of stone, surrounded by a farm, surrounded by tall mountains.

For an entire month, Chariot attempted time and time again to escape. For an entire month his efforts came to naught. The steel rod and the lightning from the ground kept Chariot at bay and unable to escape. For an entire month, King John the Cute’s voice would occasionally be heard echoing across the land, searching for his friend and chariot.

For an entire month, Farmer Moozik did not emerge from the stone house.

On the last day of the first month, Farmer Moozik came out of his house and said, “Now I will tell you the first story you must hear, my little boy cloud.”

Chariot glowered at Farmer Moozik. “I am not a boy,” he said. “I am a grown cloud.”

“I was born,” Farmer Moozik began his tale, “with a great talent for music. Everyone in my family also had a talent for music. Each one of my five brothers and my five sisters had a great talent for music. They could play with notes as no one else in the entire River Red Continent could. They could manipulate notes, and create chants and songs and short pieces of music that could immediately make anyone cry. My brothers and sisters were very talented.

“And so was I. I knew it. They knew it. I had a talent. But for some reason, I could never make it work as well as my brothers and sisters did. When listening to them, I could feel inside that I could do much better. And yet, whenever I tried, I fell short and my notes fell flat, and no one cried when I played my notes.

“Then, disgusted at myself and at my inability to create good music, I left home. I left home with a song on my lips, hope in my heart, and a big empty bag on my shoulders. I was off to seek my fortune elsewhere. The path led me here, to this farm. Here I built my house. And here I began to build a farm of notes.

“For years I raised small musical notes of all kinds. They were ripe and small and fell well upon the ears, but they were not the notes my brothers and sisters could raise.

“But still, I persevered. I worked the land and grew the notes for years and years. And still, they were not as pleasant as they could be. At the time, I had grown and was well past your age today. I considered myself to be an adult and I knew I liked growing music, and I knew that growing music was my destiny.

“After a few years of working the land, I began to take some of the notes I had grown and put them together. Yes, I decided that one part of this vast farm you have watered shall grow musical notes and another part of it shall grow musical tunes, created by mixing the musical notes I have grown.

“I grew musical tunes for years and years. They were nice to the ears. They were juicier than the notes. But they were still not the best. I was still not as good as my brothers and sisters. I still had something missing. And yet, I persevered and worked the land for years and years.

“Then, after many years, I began to take the musical tunes I had grown and mix them together, in order to grow longer musical pieces in another part of this big farm. The longer pieces were sometimes five, sometimes ten minutes long, and they were beautiful and sounded great to the ears, but something was still missing.

“Still, I persevered, for I knew it was my purpose to grow music. After ten years of growing longer musical pieces as well as notes and tunes, I had decided to breed the longer musical pieces together. There was one part of the farm left. There, I put all the longer musical pieces I had grown by my own hands together, and slowly let a symphony grow.

“It took an entire year for the symphony to grow. But when it was done, it was the most beautiful piece of music anyone in this land had ever heard. People came from near and far to hear my beautiful music. It was complex and beautiful. It consisted of every note I had grown, and of every delicate way I had put the notes together into tunes, and of every delicate way in which I had merged the tunes into longer pieces of music, and of every beautiful pattern with which I combined all of those into one piece of music that held all of my life’s efforts within it.

“You see, my little boy cloud, when I was young, I knew I was talented, but I did not know who or what I was. And only at the age of sixty all the elements of who-I-was and what-I-did, all the elements of my decades of work, all the elements of my personality, all the complexity created by sixty years of living, fell together into one symphony, and I knew who I was and what my destiny was.

“You see, my little boy cloud, I am a man that can only do complex symphonies well, but not small tunes or notes or even longer pieces of music. I had known and felt all my life that I was talented, but I had not lived enough to create the complexity that equaled what I knew I was.

“Ever since, then, my dear little boy cloud, with every year, I create more notes and more tunes, more longer pieces of music and even pieces of my earlier symphonies. And of all of those, I create a new and magnificent symphony every year. You have helped me water this year’s crop.”

“Why have you told me this story?” Chariot said angrily.

“Ah,” said Farmer Moozik. “You are young and you do not see the connection. The life-lesson of the story is that sometimes you are too young to know who you really are. Who you think you are when you are young is not who you learn you are when you are older. You have made a promise to the king, a promise to return a favor. But it was the promise of a child. Perhaps the adult way of returning the favor is to help him die, and thus help him fulfill his purpose in saving the Land of All Legends?”

Chariot said nothing to this.

“Think about that,” said Farmer Moozik. “In a while I shall tell you the second story.”

He turned around, entered his stone house, and shut the door behind him.

This has been yet another enlightening life-lesson from the River Red Continent.


(To be continued on Tuesday…)
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