Olive Trees

One day,  a man  with his little boy
in a wagon rested under the 
shady branches of an olive tree.

They ate cheese and bread 
and when they were done 
they picked olives. 

When the sacks were full 
and they grew tired, 
they slept under the wagon.

In the morning they noticed 
that the earth below them
sparkled and shined. 

They removed the soil.
They dug holes.
They removed a lot of stones. 

They traded the stones,
built themselves a house,
picked a lot of olives.

A hungry woman came by.
They shared their cheese and bread with her.
They shared their house with her.

Sometimes she looked up and saw olives,
but mostly, she looked down and saw 
all the shiny stones waiting to be traded. 

She told them she needed nice things.  
She told them to dig more holes and trade 
the stones for the nice things she needed.

They dug more holes.  They bought 
machines, logs, wheelbarrows and tools.
Everyday they took out bags of mud.

The holes grew bigger until tunnels 
of beetles emerged from the holes
and the insects scattered the vast land.

With each hole a  mountain grew behind them 
until the soil was up to their ankles, knees,
embraced their waist, covered their backs.  

One day,  only their fingers came out
pointing to the sky.  With each sun ray 
they rooted, until they were settled and buried.  

Now, the people looking from the distance 
of the new mountain see only three withered 
olive trees amidst a green grove of plenty.