Success is a Cloud

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There once was a young man who dreamt of becoming a great artist.

He would pick up his papers and pencils and sit under an apple tree every day looking for the hardest thing to draw that met his eyes.

First, he drew a fig tree up ahead. Then he drew the river that rippled by. At last, it was a tasty ripe apple that hung lustily from a branch.

"I am very good," he thought as he inspected his works. Truly, his works were masterpieces worth praising. His craftsmanship was as flawless as the shades of pencil in his drawings.

One day, the young man gazed intently at his work that he grew proud.

"Have I really done this?" was his continuous question. He would then finger every detail of the drawings and nod his head with pride.

This grew into a habit, and instead of drawing under the apple tree, he would sit and idly admire his work.

"You are not an artist at all," the apple tree rustled its leaves in disgust one bright day.

"What do you mean? Look upon my work and be awed. I have accomplished all I set out to. I am the greatest artist for none can wield the pencil with such mastery. There is nothing I cannot reproduce its image on paper."

"Is that so? Well, I will give you something to draw that you will never be able to reproduce perfectly."

"I accept at once, silly tree," said the young man. "Shall we even put a wager? How about all your precious fruits?" the young artist asked with a laugh.

"Fine, but if you lose, you must do as I command. Don't worry. I'll give you only one instruction," said the tree.

"Deal," the artist replied at once.

The proud artist got ready and gazed at the tree, ready for his task. He had drawn every difficult image. What was there that he couldn't draw?

The tree waved its branches to the sky and with a smile, said, "Draw that cloud!"

The artist looked at the big puffy cloud with white edges. It was moving loftily towards the sun.

The artist smiled and began at once. Expertly, he shaded here and there but not a stroke of his confident  pencil could straighten the tree's smile.

Soon enough, the young artist understood why. Whenever he looked up to observe the cloud again to continue drawing, he found that the cloud had moved farther or changed its shape.

 With difficulty, the artist followed the restless cloud with his eye and his pencil.

At last, the artist dropped the pencil and said to the apple tree, "Here, I'm done."

"Hmmm, you lost. You were asked to reproduce that cloud on paper. What is in your paper is not what is in the sky."

Indeed it wasn't, for the cloud had now grown so thin it was hardly visible.

"The cloud kept shape shifting," he protested.

"What an excuse from the so call greatest artist in the world," the tree mocked and the artist bowed his head in shame.

"Now, for the wager. This is what you will do. Sit under my shade everyday like you used to and draw. A truly great artist never drops his pencil. He keeps drawing, for success is not a still cloud but an ever changing and restless cloud that can only be drawn by those who are willing to chase it."

Finis.