The Man Who Waited for the Rain

A light mist clung to the mountains as the Daoist master poured tea, his movements slow and unhurried. Across from him sat a man wrapped in a heavy cloak, his face clouded with frustration.

“Master,” the man sighed, “I have spent years waiting for the right moment to act. But every time I am ready, something is missing. The conditions are never perfect.”

The master took a sip of tea, then glanced outside. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, the scent of rain in the air. “Tell me,” he said, “do you think it will rain today?”

The man followed his gaze. “Perhaps. The sky is dark, the wind is cool, but who can say for certain?”

The master nodded. “And if you were a farmer, would you plant your seeds now, or wait for the rain to begin?”

The man hesitated. “I suppose I would plant them now. If I wait too long, the season might pass.”

The master smiled. “Then why do you wait for perfect conditions in your life? The sky is never just right. The wind never gives a guarantee. The only way to know if the rain will come is to plant the seed and see.”

The man sat in silence. A single raindrop landed on the wooden table between them. Then another.

The master refilled his cup. “Ah,” he said, “it seems the time was right after all.”

Outside, the rain began to fall.