I live close to a mountain called Monsacro, the Sacred Mountain. It has a lovely crown of clouds most mornings, which lingers through the day sometimes. It sparked a conversation with a friend and a fairy tale I want to share with you.
*
Once upon a time, there was a young woman living in a small village between three rivers. Once a year, on the winter solstice, she climbed the mountain closest to her home. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow could keep her away, and she’d be gone from sunrise to sunset on the shortest day of the year.
In the village below, there was a man who grew fond of the young woman, but she never gave anyone more than a hug and a smile and maybe a dance now and again during the Midsummer festivities. The man, however, was not so easily swept aside by her dancing eyes. His infatuation pushed him to follow her around, and on a cold, miserable winter solstice morning, he witnessed her yearly trek up the mountain.
Up there, where the peak touched the skies and snow turned to mist, he observed with astonishment that a staircase appeared on the clouds and she stepped on it, as surely as if it were made of iron and wood. He tried to follow, but no whole hearted man could make such an ascent.
Disappointed and frustrated, he came back down the mountain and went in search of a witch. He found the local wise woman in her cottage in the woods and explained his predicament. The witch grew serious and advised him to stay away and have his pick of the other village girls. But the man, obstinate or obsessed, refused her advice and pleaded and promised and cajoled with her until finally, the old woman broke, a weary sigh on her lips and a frown on her brow.
“If you wish to follow her, you’ll have to give me your heart to keep,” said the witch. The man startled, but he’d made up his mind, so he acquisced and gave the witch his heart.
*
Some time passed. Winter gave way to spring, then summer. The man stopped following the young woman around, but seemed to spend rather a lot of time with the old witch. He didn’t ask the young woman out to dance on Midsummer, in fact, he did not dance at all. If she noticed, she said nothing of it. Come fall, after the harvest, the man moved into the witch’s cottage. The winter solstice came and went. The young woman kept her heart in the clouds, the man foolishly gave his away, and the old witch? Well, she had a helping hand for quite a while.