The Wheelwright

One day, they came to the wheelwright. They asked him why he would only make round wheels. Quietly, the wheelwright spoke of stars, suns, and moons, of the turning of seasons and the way of the wheel over the rolling landscape. With his strong hands, he lifted a wooden wheel and showed them the spokes and the center ring. He even rolled the wheel gently on the ground. They murmured to themselves and went away. Another time, they returned, grumbling once again. They said that they were tired of his wheels, of the sun and the moon, of the stars and the seas, and even the roundness of mother Earth. They hated the wheels, the pinwheels, the windmills, the waterwheels, the rings on their fingers, and even their rounded goblets. They would make other means to travel over the dusty earth and drink from wells. In those days, they would burn wheels by the roadside and stop up any wells that were circular. They would hang wheelwrights from trees. The land became empty of horses, chariots, and carts. The roads were overgrown with weeds and littered with stones.

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