; it was a beautiful day.

The wind blew a chilled wisp of air through the calm of the countryside; the air twisted and turned as it quietly rolled by. The simple hickory tree, sitting on top of the same hill it had always sat atop, gently rocked under the weight of the breeze; some of the leaves rustled about their stems and two or three small twigs fell from the trellis of branches. Two birds nesting inside of the tree shook their feathers about and cooed in response to the wind- their song was chipper and full of warmth, a welcome. The day was a calm Georgian summer, the sky was clear and the sun beat down on everything below it.

Though, the man who rested below was a stark comparison to the simple hickory. Of what was not covered by the shadow cast by the lush array of branches and leaves was unkempt and soiled. The man's face was unclear but it was apparent that he had not shaved in months and his hair had not been trimmed in years. From what could be seen of his clothing it was dirty and wrinkled. He had no pack or sack; yet, he surely had to be a traveler-or even a vagrant. His easy slumber in such a place could only be achieved by the unconcerned, after all.
He laid there for sometime dreaming pleasance dreams: a smiled engraved into his face. His body was at ease as the light breeze gently took his wild hair and gently tossed it across his grimy face. The grass rustled about his feet and fingertips; and a butterfly came down and kissed his lips.
In his dreams he was free.

The man awoke then, his eyes gently fluttering open to his surroundings. A sigh of relief escaped his tender lips- his world was beautiful and vibrant. The wildlife was lush, the sun was warm, and the weather was delightful. Yet, as he had just begun to absorb everything, the world around him began to dissolve away into a horrible sound: a sound which filled his ears with noise and made a shiver work its way up his back. He trembled slightly. The clatter filled his head, much to his annoyance. He covered his ears and looked around him in a hurry. Confusion and disdain covered his face and filled his eyes.

He then saw what was making the sound: when he turned his head to the right he saw a small alarm clock ringing beside him. The small contraption was nothing more than an old analog job complete with two metal bells and a small hammer. Gently he laughed a sigh of relief- he stopped trembling and relaxed. He reached over and turned the little clock off by a switch on its back. And again he turned his eyes to the beautiful landscape before him.

There were sheep grazing in a field below him; though oddly, there was no sheppard to guide the sheep, he shrugged it off. Surely there was a reason. Around the field there was an old wooden fence, and on the other side of the fence there was a small creek. The grass along it was high and the shore was covered in fist sized rocks and smaller rocks and pebbles. It was filled with small fish splashing against the rocks along the edge of the water- the sound of which soothed him and attempted to lull him back to sleep.

Then there was the small hill he rested on. He knew there was a road at the bottom. He had walked up the hill from that road. He also knew there were more fields on the other side of the road. Yet he had no idea what the hill's or the tree's purpose was. Surely they had one- he shrugged; it did not matter.

Yet his mind kept returning to the thought of the hill's purpose.
Sweat found its way onto his brow so he took out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and whipped his face. He was frustrated. The tree had to have a purpose and so did the hill. He looked about the land again. The sheep had gone but there was a small rabbit lazily hopping about the edge of the fence.

The rabbit hopped along the fence with a pace that was easy and filled with several pauses. And each time the little rabbit paused it would lift its head and sniff about the air with its tiny nose, rustle its fur, and move its ears about; then it would casually go on. This continued for sometime before it reached its hole, which was nestled inside a tree not too far from the creek and the soothing lullaby it produced. It had been a small brown rabbit with floppy ears; it had the cutest button nose the man had ever seen and it was a little overweight. Its stomach was white too. He sighed; it had been something worth watching; it had a purpose, he thought.

He stood up and looked down at the tiny clock- still there, he smiled. Though he never noticed how old it must have been. While it was still in good shape one of its feet had been broken off and spots of it were rusted. He picked it up casually with one hand, running his fingers over it with the other. His fingers ran over the glass front and the metal sides and then found their way to the small winders on the back. He twisted and twisted the different winders for sometime but he found that only the second-hand would move.

Stuck in the moment, he thought.

He sighed and then tossed the clock back on the ground. He questioned what a clock was without the ability to live out its purpose. Though, he never once questioned how it had rang in the first place. He sighed and then looked out about him again. A carriage made its way quickly along the road behind the tree. And as he watched it, it disappeared into the distance- to carry out some purpose, he thought.

The dust kicked up by the horses lingered for sometime after and then settled back onto the road. He sighed; he had no purpose in this world and even the dust had its mission to rise and settle again. His eyes closed.

Sometime passed as the man stood, with his eyes closed, facing the road. Then the same sound of the carriage rushing along the road came to him. He opened his eyes; it was in fact the same carriage as before. Surely the person inside it had served his or her purpose and now they were returning home fulfilled, he thought. And he thought, even the carriage serves the purpose it has.

He again sighed and made his way back to his resting place under the simple tree sitting atop the purposeless hill. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sat back down. How he yearned for a purpose and how he longed even more so to fulfill that purpose. Then he thought, and what of the hill's purpose or the tree's?

The clock began to ring again.

He was stuck in the moment, he thought angrily. He wished for the ringer in the clock to break: he longed for quietness. And in that moment, as the clamoring of the clock filled his ears and anger filled his mind, he realized the tree's purpose was to provide him shade and the hill's purpose was to provide a home for the tree; and his purpose was to provide the tree a purpose and to allow the hill's purpose to have meaning.

He looked out about him once again and everything was beautiful and right in the world. Regardless of the significance of his purpose he had one and for that he thanked the world. He grabbed the clock and turned the ringer off. He then fell into a gentle sleep once again, holding the little old clock in his arms as if to keep it from disappearing; just as he fell into slumber once again another cool wisp of cool air passed by.