Misfortune that spring from ourseleve is often the hardest to bear

 

Once upon a time, in the heart of a dense forest, there stood a majestic Mountain Oak. Its towering presence was a testament to its years of endurance and strength. One day, a woodcutter ventured into the forest, his eyes set on the mighty oak.

With a swift, determined swing of his axe, he began his task. The Mountain Oak, a silent observer of the forest’s tales, found itself at the mercy of the woodcutter’s axe. The woodcutter, to ease his task, cleverly crafted wedges from the oak’s own branches. He used these to split the trunk, saving himself considerable effort.

The Mountain Oak, though stoic and resilient, couldn’t help but sigh at this sight. “The strikes of the axe at my root, I can bear,” it whispered to the wind, “for such is the fate of all trees. But the agony of being torn apart by wedges hewn from my own branches is a sorrow far greater.”

And so, the tale of the Mountain Oak serves as a poignant reminder. Misfortunes that spring from ourselves are often the hardest to bear, a moral as timeless as the forest itself