The Garden of Paradise

Once there was a young prince who loved to read about faraway places. Of all the wonders in his books, one called to him most: the Garden of Paradise, where the first people had once lived, where flowers never faded and all four seasons lived side by side. He longed to see it with his own eyes.

So he set out from his father’s palace and wandered as far as the roads could carry him. He climbed over mountains, crossed lonely plains, and at last came to a big house built into a cliff of gray rock. An old woman stood at the door. Her hair blew about like clouds, and her eyes sparkled like stormy skies.

“I am Mother of the Winds,” she said, with a smile that was both kind and strong. “Come in, prince, and wait for my sons. They bring me news from every corner of the world.”

One by one the Winds came home. First the West Wind breezed in, smelling of orange blossoms and sea salt. “I’ve blown over soft waves and gardens full of music,” he said. Then the South Wind rolled in heavy and warm, with thunder muttering in his pockets. “I’ve danced through jungles and deserts,” he rumbled, “and melted snow wherever I went.” Last of all the North Wind roared in with a blast of ice and a cloak full of snow. “Brr!” laughed Mother of the Winds, and she tied his scarf tighter so he wouldn’t freeze the soup on the table.

The prince listened, but his heart beat faster when the East Wind finally glided through the door. He was gentle and clear, and he smelled like dawn. “Where have you been, my son?” asked Mother of the Winds.

“To places where the sky is high and the earth is hidden by blue seas,” said the East Wind. “I have been as far as the Garden of Paradise.”

The prince stood up at once. “Can you take me there?” he begged. “I have searched for it all my life.”

The East Wind studied him. “It is not a place for just anyone,” he said softly. “A watchful being sits by the gate. She is called Sin, and she sees through every disguise. But if you are brave and true, I will try.”

Mother of the Winds shook her head but kissed the prince on the brow. “Mind what you do, child,” she said. “Paradise is not won by wishing.”

At dawn the East Wind lifted the prince upon his back. They flew over shining lakes and dark forests, above cities like little toy boxes and ships like white birds. They rested on the shoulder of a mountain where fire glowed deep below, and then they sped on again until a high wall of shining metal rose before them. A gate stood there, and beside it sat a small, gray woman with sharp eyes and a heavy book on her lap. The East Wind bowed his head.

“That is Sin,” he whispered. “Close your eyes while I blow, and perhaps we can pass.” The East Wind breathed a cool, clear breath. The leaves rustled, the air hummed, and for a heartbeat the gray woman nodded and closed her eyes. In that moment the gate swung open, and the prince slipped inside.

He stepped into wonder. In one corner spring sang with apple blossoms and birds building nests. In another summer shone with tall wheat and buzzing bees. A third corner glowed with autumn: purple grapes hung heavy, and golden leaves drifted down. The last corner sparkled with winter’s lace, where snowflakes danced and ice shone like glass. In the middle rose a grand tree with deep roots and wide arms, as if it remembered the oldest stories in the world.

Out of the light came a young woman, graceful and bright as morning. “Welcome,” she said. “I am the Princess of the Garden.” She took the prince’s hand and showed him every marvel. They walked where flowers sang softly, and streams told secrets in silver voices. The prince’s heart felt lighter than a feather.

When the sun began to sink, the princess turned serious. “You want to stay,” she said, reading the wish in his eyes. “You may stay forever—if you can keep one promise. Tonight you must sit and watch by my door. Do not let Sin come in, no matter what she says or how she pleads. If you hold fast until morning, the Garden will be yours and I will be by your side. But if Sin so much as touches you, the winds will carry you away, and you will not find this place again by seeking it.”

“I will keep my promise,” said the prince, for his hope was strong.

Night fell soft and cool. The prince sat by the princess’s door. The moon climbed, and the stars blinked. Owls called from the winter trees. The prince folded his hands and kept watch. But as the night grew long, footsteps sounded like dry leaves on the path. The small gray woman from the gate appeared, her eyes bright as needles.

“Let me warm myself beside you,” she whispered. “It is only for a moment. I am old and the night is cold.”

“No,” said the prince, remembering his promise. He rose and stood between her and the door.

She smiled, and her voice turned sweet as ripe fruit. “Do you hear her breathing?” she murmured. “The princess sleeps beyond that door. Look, just once. See how peaceful she is. One harmless kiss upon her brow—what harm could there be in that? You love her.”

The prince’s heart thudded. He shut his eyes. He thought of dawn, of staying in the garden forever. “No,” he whispered. But the whisper wavered. The gray woman’s breath brushed his cheek like cool smoke. The door drifted open a finger’s width, and the prince saw the princess asleep, more beautiful than song, with a tear shining at the corner of her eye.

“One kiss,” breathed Sin. “Only one.”

The prince bent and touched his lips to the princess’s brow.

Thunderless as a sigh, the Garden trembled. The princess opened her eyes, and sorrow lay there like a shadow. “It is done,” she said, and her voice was gentle but very sad. “You have broken your promise. I warned you that Sin would ask for little and take everything.”

The spring blossoms drooped. The autumn leaves fell faster, swirling like departing birds. A cold wind flowed through the winter corner, and the summer bees fell quiet, as if listening to a story’s end.

The princess took the prince’s hand once more. “I loved your courage and your wonder,” she said, “but you tried to enter by a shortcut. You may not live here now. The East Wind will carry you away, and you will wander with autumn and winter in your heart. Do good in the world. Be faithful and kind. When your days are done, a greater Paradise opens to the truly good—one no wind can carry you into, and none can take away.”

Before the prince could speak, the East Wind was at his side, sorrowful and sure. He lifted the prince, and together they rose above the shining wall. The gate closed with a quiet sound, and the Garden of Paradise was hidden once more.

They flew back over the sleeping world. “Do not lose hope,” the East Wind murmured. “Let your deeds be your wings.”

The prince returned to the wide, ordinary earth. He walked among people who needed help, and he tried to make his heart strong and his hands gentle. Sometimes, on clear mornings, a cool breath touched his face, and he remembered the song of streams and the four bright corners where the seasons live together. He never found the Garden again, but he kept its lesson: Paradise cannot be stolen. It must be earned by choosing what is right, day after day, as faithfully as the wind returns with the dawn.