The polar bear wearily lifted his head off the frozen ground and squinted at the sun whose blazing disc had just risen above the far horizon and for the moment was lending none of its warmth to the snowy landscape.
After forcing himself up onto his haunches, the polar bear surveyed the bare expanse of the tundra before him and sighed, ”It has been days since I first embarked on my lonely journey but I have yet to behold the forests, fields and flowers that my good friend, the great Arctic Wind, has often spoken of. I now begin to doubt whether a place of such awe-inspiring sights truly exists.”
And having walked for days with nearly no rest, he settled on letting a few hours slip by lazily before resuming his quest.
By the time the designated hour for his departure drew near, the sun had risen as high as possible for that time of the year and the resulting unseasonably balmy temperatures was a cause of vexation for the polar bear.
But this unexpected annoyance was immediately forgotten when a movement at the edge of the horizon caught his eye. Thinking that it could be no worse than another of his kind, the polar bear decided to see if the visitor would approach before he himself moved on.
As the speck in the distance gradually grew larger, he could make out at once that it was not another polar bear but an animal the likes of whom he had never seen. It had a long shaggy coat and fearsome integuments on its head. Nevertheless the polar bear stood his ground and waited patiently, seeing that the newcomer showed neither sign of hostility nor fear as it approached.
“Who are you and what brings you to this place?” inquired the bear of the stranger.
“I am a mountain goat and I come from the country well beyond the horizon your eyes can see. I have travelled far foraging for bits of grass and herbs to eat, for I have been banished from the rocky mountains I used to call home and which have been laid bare by my brothers and sisters in their selfishness and greed.”
The mountain goat paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked the polar bear over, then spoke once more.
“Although I am quite aware you are no foreigner in this land, you do not seem to have been around in these parts for too long a time.”
“What you say is true,” replied the bear, “I may be no stranger here but I have been a nomad these past days not unlike yourself. I crave for something new and seek the forests, fields and flowers that the Arctic Wind has told me of. He speaks time and again of the sweet perfumes of violets and roses; of stately poplars and magnificent oak trees; and of vast verdant meadows rippling in his breath, and dotted with the vivid reds and golden yellows of poppies and dandelions. He painted a picture of a such loveliness much more fascinating than this cold and desolate place I call home that I took it upon myself to travel far and wide for even a glimpse of the beauty of which I know nothing of.
“And yet...,” the polar bear added after a pause, a furrow on his forehead, “yet He also counsels that I have but to open my eyes to discover the treasures hidden in the most ordinary of things.”
The mountain goat nodded and said, “I too long to find such a place for there will be an abundance of grass to eat and many other plants besides that would appease my hunger. I know of many a forest and many a field near my old home in the mountains. But that was long before my brothers and sisters and I were beset with our present trials and tribulations.”
The polar bear regarded the mountain goat thoughtfully for a minute before saying, “You and I share a common goal. I see no reason why we should not travel together in search of these forests and fields that we both after all yearn for. Then once we come upon one or the other, you shall have your fill of grass and herbs while I shall be able to drink in the delightful sights and smells such a place will bring. You have arrived just in time; I was about to leave. Come! We have but a few hours before the light grows too dim for us to see.”
Without another word the polar bear turned and began to walk away.
Just then the mountain goat spied a bit of green in the snow-covered ground directly behind where the polar bear stood earlier. As he looked more closely, he found to his utter disbelief that it was an ox-eye daisy, rare—nay, impossible!—in that barren wasteland, its faint scent wafting through the frigid air.
Having been awakened by the unusual warmth of that sunny day, the tiny scrap of life had waged a fierce battle against the frost to lift its lone white head above the snow and bask in the sunshine above.
As he gaped incredulously at the astonishing sight, the mountain goat heard the polar bear call back to him to hurry along. At first he made a move to follow but later hesitated, hunger pangs gnawing at his innards. He glanced after the polar bear, already lumbering along some distance ahead, then quickly bit off the flower and tugged at the entire plant, completely uprooting it, before hurriedly chewing and swallowing flower, stem, leaf and all. Then smiling to himself, he trotted off after the polar bear.
When he finally pulled abreast of his new travel companion he remarked, “I find it difficult to believe that you have yet to see a single flower. Not even a simple daisy...?”
For there are those who refuse to open their eyes and therefore do not see. And there are those who open their eyes and yet refuse to see.
