High above the sun-washed savannah, where the acacia trees cast long patterns across the golden earth, lived a young male named G. Raffe. He was not content with the gentle rhythms of his herd; whilst others grazed upon the tenderest leaves and drank from the cool riverbed, G. Raffe spent his nights staring up at the silvery face of the Moon. He marvelled at its pale splendour, convinced that a creature of his extraordinary height belonged amongst the stars rather than in the dust.
‘Why waste your days reaching for what is so far above you?’ warned the wise old tortoise who lived beside the watering hole. ‘The earth gives us food, shade and companionship. That giant, glowing pumpkin in the sky offers nothing but silence.’
G. Raffe merely scoffed. Every night, he stood upon the highest ridge, stretching his long neck as high as his limbs would allow. On a night when the full moon hung low and heavy in the velvet sky, a strange celestial breeze swept across the plain. The silver light pulled at G. Raffe like a gentle tide, lifting his hooves from the dirt. Up and up he drifted, rising past the clouds until his hooves touched the cool, chalky surface of the Moon itself.
At first, G. Raffe was filled with pride. He looked down upon the distant, tiny blue Earth, feeling like the grandest sovereign in the cosmos. But as the hours stretched on, the chill of space began to bite at his hooves. There were no sweet acacia leaves to nibble, no warm breezes to ruffle his patterned coat and no friends to share in his triumph. The satellite was a barren wilderness of grey dust and cratered stone. He realised, with a heavy heart, that in reaching so desperately for the sky, he had abandoned everything that gave his life warmth and meaning.
Desperate to return, G. Raffe trotted across the dusty lunar plains, searching for a way home. But his awkward hooves slipped upon the icy rim of a deep crater. He tumbled, lost his footing entirely and plunged off the moon’s edge into the dark void.
Down he tumbled through the quiet darkness, falling from the moon back towards the vibrant blue marble below. The wind whistled in his ears as the atmosphere embraced him, carrying him down through fluffy white clouds until he landed with a mighty splash into the deep, soothing waters of the river.
Emerging dripping and shaken onto the riverbank, G. Raffe looked around at the lush green trees, the warm earth beneath his hooves and the familiar faces of his herd who gathered around him with soft, welcoming nudges. He smiled, wrapped his long tongue around a handful of sweet leaves and never longed to leave the ground again.
Moral:
To reach endlessly for distant heavens is to forfeit the riches already beneath our feet.
So very true.