Hats, Boots, & Chocolate

The Artist's Sight      “Master, I wish to be your pupil.”      The old man raised his eyes from the bare patch of dirt in front of his seat and considered the young woman standing before him. “I see.”      She was silent a few moments, as though wondering if he would say more, but the old man had learned long ago that silence was frequently the easiest way to get a person to talk.      “I brought my portfolio,” she said at last. “With my finest pieces.”      “I see.” This time the old man did not look up, instead picking up a stick and beginning a sketch in the loose soil between his feet.      “Would you—” She hesitated, clearly unsure of herself, and went on, “Would you like to see them?”      The old man continued sketching with his stick. “You may pull two out of your portfolio, if you wish me to see them,” he said.      He heard a breath—a sound very like ...

The Patchwork Fiddle      Once upon a time, there was a man who had traveled far and wide, and had seen a great many things in the world.      One day, this man was traveling to a region he had never been to before, and along his way, he found a fiddle on the ground.      Now, this was no ordinary fiddle. This was a broken fiddle, more worn and damaged than any he'd seen before. And this fiddle had seen a great many things, just like the man who stood over it.      It had seen rain. It had seen snow. It had seen days so hot the ground itself steamed.      It had seen animals, too; rats that nibbled on its scroll and pegs, squirrels who stuffed their nuts into it through the gaping cracks it bore, mice who came and nested inside it, living off the nuts the squirrels had left.      As you can imagine, the fiddle was in pretty bad shape. When he saw it lying there on the ground, the man's heart w...