The Ant and the Fly
Once upon a time, a sweet bustle went on in the shade of an aged plane tree where cool waters flowed. In the burning heat of the summer sun the little ant carried grains of wheat without stopping in order to fill its winter store. Just then a proud fly that glided in the air with its colourful wings watched this effort of the ant with mocking eyes. The fly was a creature that was proud of walking on the tables of palaces and of feeding on the leftovers of feasts, and that loved to live without labour. On this hot summer day, mixed with the smell of the earth, the paths of the two insects crossed at the edge of a wheat field. The fly settled on a leaf, and while it dried its bright wings it looked at the ant and began to buzz merrily.
“Poor ant, why do you wear yourself out in this heat and carry heavy loads without stopping?” it said. “But I walk in the palaces of kings and take the first share of the meat of the noblest offerings without any trouble,” it boasted. The ant carefully put down the heavy seed on its back, wiped its sweat and turned its eyes to the fly. “You boast of the leftovers on the table of others, but what will you do when those feasts are over?” it asked. The fly laughed at these words and answered, “While one can live for the day, thinking of tomorrow is only the work of small creatures like you.” The ant looked at the proud fly with pitying eyes, took its load on its shoulder again and went on its way with patience.
All summer long the fly amused itself, while the ant went on storing its winter food in its safe home. Then the winds of autumn died down, and the freezing cold of winter fell over the whole forest like a black cover. The flowers withered, the windows of the palaces were closed, and the proud fly could not find a single crumb to eat. Trembling from the cold, the fly crawled helplessly to the door of the warm home of the ant, full of food. But the ant looked at the fly from behind the door and reminded it that the one who does not work in time suffers in winter. The ant, enjoying the wheat it had gathered by its own effort, spent the winter in peace in its warm home. Those who do not know the worth of work and of the sweat of the brow are bound to be helpless when hard times come. He whose head boils in August will have his pot boiling in winter.