There was once a logger. He lived in a small village in a beautiful valley. Everything was covered with green meadows, tall trees and a variety of trees whose shadows housed every passenger in the hot summer days. The whole village was surrounded by the snow-capped peaks of some of the highest and unruly mountains. The tree house was on the outskirts. She was a little distant from the others, but he was already a stranger and did not communicate much with the people in the village. His home was modest, with a white fence in front, white windows on the windows, and a white door with beautiful carving on it. A large apple tree was growing in front of the house, which gave many delicious berries at the end of summer for many years.
But the woodman was a miserable man. No one had ever seen him smile, saluted the people from the village with reluctance, was locked in himself and did not like to talk much. He had no friends, no friends. He was alone. They say his loneliness has made him so cold and rude. And they were right. Woodworker was in the sunset of his youth, and he still had no woman beside him who would give him children and fill the house with laughter. This made him despair and made him think he would never build a family and die alone as a smoker. These thoughts depressed him.
He spent his days in the woods around. He strolled for a long time, looking around the trees around him. Did you see a curved tree or a storm of storms, he cut it off. When it fell in the grass, the woodcutter cut his branches and prepared it for timber, which he then sold in the village. So you earned the little money that was enough for him to experience.
One day, as he was by the river and trimmed another tree, the woodcutter felt a large gap in himself. It was bigger than usual. He stopped doing his job and sat down on the grass. He threw his ax to one side and laughed. He was so lonely! He was so much missing a company while he worked. He even missed the idea that someone could wait for him at home after his workday. He wanted so much to have a woman around to share his joys and worries. But he did not have one. He was alone.
He decided that there was no point in living this pointless life in which neither he nor anyone loved. In his opinion, his existence was in vain, and the years he was wasted in the wind. He walked to the river. After a few steps he stood up through the hectic cold water, which flowed ruthlessly and pushed her into the river stones. Woodworker thought, how fast the flow would take him, hit his head in some stone, and die. You imagined how his body would be lonely in the rhythm of the lush river, and how someone would find it somewhere. But he would hardly be saddened by the one who discovered his body. Still, the woodcarver knew he had no friends and relatives, so he would not miss anyone.
Just when he was about to jump into the water and put an end to his life, a woodpecker heard a voice behind him who asked him:
"Why do you want to do it?"
Crawler was startled. He turned and saw behind him an elderly man with white hair and a long beard. He was dressed in rags, but a smile on his face showed how light and happy his soul was. He dared to envy the tranquility that radiated this old man's face.
"There is nothing I can do to live," he replied to the whitewash.
"Is the very fact that you are given life is not enough to live?
