The Fox Who Saw a Star

At the edge of a deep forest, atop a small hill, there lived a young fox.

The fox was clever and diligent. Every morning it roamed the fields in search of food, in the afternoon it groomed its fur in a warm patch of sun, and in the evening it sat at the top of the hill and watched the sun go down.

The fox's den was snug. The floor, lined with dry grass, was soft, and a comfortable breeze always passed through the entrance. Food was plentiful, and it drew its water from a nearby brook. The fox's life wanted for nothing.

At least, that was true until that one night.

On a clear autumn night, the fox climbed the hill as it always did. But that night the sky was unusually clean. The wind that had blown all day had swept away every cloud, and the sky was clear as a polished mirror. Countless stars were scattered across it like jewels.

And among them all, a single star rising in the eastern sky shone more brightly than any other. That star carried a bluish light, and it quivered gently, as though it were alive.

The fox could not take its eyes off that star.

"To think that something so beautiful existed in the world."

A small spark kindled in the fox's heart. At first it was only wonder, a pure wonder that the star was beautiful. But wonder soon turned into something else.

Without meaning to, the fox murmured:

"I want that star. If that star were mine, I would be the happiest fox in all the world."

The moment those words left its mouth, the fox's heart turned strangely. Everything that had been enough only a moment before suddenly felt trivial. The snug den, the plentiful food, the nearby brook. As long as it could not have that star, all of it seemed like nothing at all.

That night, the fox could hardly fall asleep. Even lying in its den, the eastern sky kept rising before its eyes. When it closed them, that bluish light flickered behind its eyelids.

The Fox Who Chased the Star

From the next day on, the fox began to strive to win the star.

The fox ran east, toward where the star hung. It crossed fields, leapt over brooks, climbed over hills. It ran until the pads of its paws were blistered. But however far it ran, the star came no closer. The star always shone at the same distance, at the same height. It seemed that for every step the fox drew nearer, the star drew one step back.

"If I see it from up close, surely I can reach it."

The fox decided to climb the tallest tree. It scrambled up until its claws nearly broke. Branches snapped, and bark scraped its skin. Still it did not stop. At last it reached the highest branch, and stretching its whole body, it thrust out a forepaw.

But the star remained as distant as ever. All that met its fingertips was the cold night air.

"A tree is not enough. A mountain would be different."

The fox decided to climb the highest mountain. It walked for days and nights. Its paws froze and its belly went empty, but the fox walked thinking only of the star. At last it reached the summit. It was nearer to the sky than any place in the land. Panting, it leapt up toward the star with all its strength.

But the star did not come the slightest bit closer. Even seen from the mountaintop, it was at the very same distance as it had been from the hill.

The fox sank down on the summit and wept for a long while.

And so the season turned. The fox grew thinner and thinner. Its once-glossy fur went dull, and its once-clear eyes grew clouded. It forgot to hunt for food, forgot to groom its fur in the sun. It thought of nothing but the star.

The fact that it could not have the star ate away at it. The fox's life, which had once wanted for nothing, was now filled with a single lack. Instead of counting what it had, the fox counted the one thing it did not have, and withered away.

The Words of the Old Toad

One day, having come down from the mountain, the exhausted fox wandered through an unfamiliar forest and arrived at a small pond.

The fox was thirsty. It had not properly eaten or drunk for days. It sank down at the edge of the pond as though it might collapse, and lapped at the water. As the cold water wet its parched throat, it came a little to its senses.

Just then, from atop a nearby rock, a low and slow voice spoke.

By the pond sat an old toad. It seemed to have lived in that spot for a very long time, for moss had gathered on its back. Its eyes were half-closed, but within them dwelt a quiet light.

"Young fox, why do you look so worn out?"

With a sigh, the fox told its story. That the star in the eastern sky was so beautiful it longed for it, but that climb a tree or climb a mountain, however hard it tried, it could not reach it. And so, it felt, it could never become happy.

The toad gazed at the fox for a long while. In those slow eyes lay a depth that only one who has lived long can hold. Then slowly the toad asked:

"Young fox, let me ask you one thing. If you had the star, what would you want to do with it?"

The fox paused. It was a question it had never once considered. Its heart had been so full of wanting the star that it had never thought what it would do with it once it had it.

"Well... if I had it... I would be happy."

"Then let me ask again." The toad blinked. "Are you happy from having the star, or happy from gazing upon it?"

The fox could not answer. It opened its mouth and closed it again, over and over. Come to think of it, the moment that had made the fox happiest was that first night it gazed upon the star. Before it resolved to possess it, the moment it simply marveled at the beauty.

The toad tilted its head toward the water.

"Look at the pond."

The Star in the Pond

The fox peered into the pond.

There, upon the calm surface of the water, that very star was reflected. The star that shone most brightly in the eastern sky was sparkling just the same within the pond. As close as if it could be touched by reaching out a paw.

Startled, the fox dipped its forepaw into the water. If the star was this close, surely this time it could catch it. In that instant, the image of the star shattered into ripples and scattered. The light broke into dozens of pieces and drifted across the water.

The fox quickly drew its paw back. And it held its breath and waited. As the ripples settled, the star rose again, whole and perfect. The scattered light slowly gathered into one, becoming the very same star as before.

"Do you see?" said the toad. "The star shatters when you try to seize it, and stays beside you when you leave it be. You had the star all along, for every night you could gaze upon it. You simply never called it 'owning.'"

The fox could not say a word. The toad's words slowly knocked at the deepest part of its chest.

"There are two kinds of having in this world," the toad went on. "Having that grips in the hand, and having that holds in the heart. What shatters when you try to grip it in your hand, you could hold in your heart. The star, the sunset, the wind, all of them are like that. Try to seize them and they vanish; keep them beside you and they stay."

The fox gazed for a long time at the star reflected in the pond. Because it did not try to seize it, the star stayed quietly in place. And strangely, it felt far closer to the star now than it had when it struggled to grasp it.

The Road Back

The fox spent a night by the pond.

All night the fox gazed at the star reflected in the water. When the wind blew, the star wavered in the ripples; when the wind died, the star sharpened again. Watching this, the fox slowly came to understand how foolish it had been all that while.

The fox had run until its paws were blistered to grip the star, climbed trees until its claws broke, crossed mountains while going hungry for days. And yet the moment it had felt closest to the star was this very moment now, doing nothing but gazing.

"In chasing after the star, I lost the time to gaze upon it."

The fox bowed its head to the toad.

"Thank you, elder. I was counting only the one thing I did not have, and had forgotten the countless things I already held."

The toad smiled gently. Its moss-covered back glistened in the moonlight.

"It is enough that you have realized it. Let me tell you one more thing. Do not keep that realization to yourself alone. Someday, when you meet another worn out from chasing a star as you were, tell them the tale you heard today. Wisdom is like a star that grows brighter the more it is shared."

The fox carved those words into its heart. And when dawn broke, with a light step it turned back toward the hill.

A Second Star

From that day on, the fox returned to its old life.

Its once-dull fur grew glossy again, and its once-clouded eyes grew clear. In the morning it hunted in the fields, in the afternoon it groomed its fur in the sun. And in the evening it sat at the top of the hill and gazed at the star in the eastern sky.

The fox no longer chased the star. It did not climb trees, nor climb mountains. It only exchanged a greeting with it each night.

"Hello. You are shining again today."

The star did not answer, but the fox was not lonely. Simply gazing upon the star filled its heart. That a heart which had withered from not having could fill again merely from gazing, was a wonder to the fox.

Then one night, on the hill, the fox met a small hare. The hare was crouched lower down the slope, looking up at the eastern sky. It was thoroughly downcast.

"What is the matter?" the fox asked.

"That star... I want it. That brightest star in the eastern sky, I mean. But however far I run, I cannot reach it. Climbing trees did nothing, crossing fields did nothing. I will never be able to become happy."

The fox smiled gently, for the sight was so very much like its own former self. The fox did not grow angry, nor mock the hare, but spoke kindly.

"I was once exactly like you."

The fox led the hare to the edge of the pond. As they walked the night road, the fox told the tale of how it had crossed mountains and climbed trees chasing the star. And of how it had met the old toad and seen the star reflected in the water.

When they reached the pond, the fox pointed to the calm surface. There the star was reflected, clear and bright.

"Look. The star shatters when you try to seize it, and stays beside you when you leave it be. You can gaze upon that star every night. By that alone, the star is already yours. A thing is not held only by gripping it in the hand."

The hare gazed for a long while at the star reflected in the water. When it dipped a forepaw in, the star shattered; when it left it be, the star sharpened again. The hare repeated this many times over. Then slowly it nodded. Over its downcast face, a small smile spread.

A Star Watched Together

From that day on, the fox and the hare met on the hill every night.

The two sat side by side and gazed at the star in the eastern sky. On some nights the star was unusually bright; on some nights it was hidden by clouds and could not be seen. Even on the nights it could not be seen, the two did not despair. For now they knew that beyond the clouds, the star was still there.

Night after night the two shared one thing and another. The hare spoke of the wildflowers it had seen in the fields, and the fox told tales of its adventures from the days it crossed mountains. The time of gazing at the star became, before they knew it, a time of coming to know each other. As they looked up at the same star, their two hearts turned toward the same place.

The fox came to understand. It had not been lonely from failing to own the star; it had been lonely from gazing upon the star alone. To have someone beside you to watch the same star with, that was a far more shining thing than owning the star could ever be.

A Winter Night

Winter came.

A cold wind swept over the hill, and frost settled on the fields. Still the fox and the hare did not miss their climb up the hill. The colder the night, the clearer the sky, and the sharper the star.

One bitterly cold night, the hare shivered. Without a word the fox drew near and sat close beside it. Two small bodies shared each other's warmth. Beneath the starlight, the two forgot the cold.

"Fox," the hare said quietly. "Before, I was sad because I couldn't have the star. But now, I'm not the least bit sad even though I can't have it. Isn't that strange?"

"It is not strange," the fox smiled. "You now hold something warmer than the star."

The hare rested its head on the fox's shoulder. Two shadows folded into one. The star in the eastern sky shone more kindly than it ever had.

Once More, to Someone

The next spring, a new guest came to the hill.

This time it was a young squirrel. The squirrel looked up at the star in the eastern sky and stamped its feet, as if it longed to have it. The fox and the hare looked at each other and smiled.

This time the hare spoke first.

"Do you want that star? Come here. I have a tale to tell you."

The hare led the squirrel to the edge of the pond. And pointing to the star reflected in the water, it told, just as it was, the very tale the fox had once told it. That the star shatters when you try to seize it, and stays beside you when you leave it be. That by gazing alone, the star is already yours.

The fox watched from a little way off. What it had learned from the toad had passed through the hare and was now flowing on to the squirrel. It remembered the toad's words, that wisdom is like a star that grows brighter the more it is shared. And so indeed it was.

That night, upon the hill, three small shadows sat side by side, gazing at the star.

The Last Night

The fox no longer longed to own the brightest star in the world. What the fox held was more precious than that. Friends to look up at the sky with each night, and a star that shone in its place, always, without any need to be grasped.

The years went by, and the fox grew old. White streaked its fur, and its step grew slow. But its eyes, gazing at the star, stayed clear as ever.

One spring night, the fox sat upon the hill and looked up at the eastern sky. Beside it now were the hare and the squirrel, both grown, and other young creatures they had brought along. The hill was full of those who gazed at the star together.

The fox smiled quietly. And softly it greeted the star.

"Hello. You are shining again today. And now, I am no longer alone."

Upon the hill, many small shadows sat side by side, gazing at the star. And the star, today as ever, shone on, unchanging and kind.

A Note on the Motif

This fable holds within it one old idea.

We often suppose that to "have" something is the same as "happiness." And so, like the fox reaching to clutch the star, we chase what cannot be reached and end up losing the very joy that is right beside us. But some kinds of beauty shine brightest not when we own them, but when we behold them. Like the stars of the night sky, there are things that are more beautiful precisely because they are far away.

And one more thing: this story is also about gazing at the same star together. The fox learned contentment through the toad's wisdom, and then shared that insight with the hare in turn. Wisdom and comfort pass that way, from one to the next. And in the passing, the star once watched alone becomes a star watched together.

I hope this short story does not turn into a sermon. I only hope that on some clear night, when you look up at the sky, you might think for a moment of the things already shining beside you, things you need not strain to grasp at all.