The flax was sown and it grew. The sun shined on the Flax and rain-laden clouds drenched it in water. A blue flower blossomed from the buds. The Flax was proud of its beauty. It told a Fence Stick of his happiness. But the Stick did not share the joy of the Flax as it thought that the Flax knew nothing of real life. Time passed. The Flax matured and finally it lost its blue flowers and became muddy-brown. It reached maturity. People came and tore it from the ground with its roots. They put it in water, dried it over a fire, placed it in a staking machine, broke it, soaked it again and tore it into harls. In the end the Flax was transformed into fibres and placed on a spinning-wheel and then on the loom. On the loom the Flax turned into a beautiful bolt of linen. It looked upon itself with wonder and felt happy again. All the suffering was not in vain. It has become strong, soft, white and long. Someone"s hands took it home and put on a table. There came the sound of scissors and the Flax felt that something strange was happening to it once again. It was cut and pricked with needles. Several pairs of underwear were made of it. After many years only rags were left from the underwear. They were then torn into pieces and boiled. The Flax was astounded to see it being transformed into elegant white paper. Beautiful stories and poems were written on it, and thousand copies of those stories and poems were then made in a printing house. The Flax had never even dreamt of bringing people joy and knowledge. Years went by. Someone placed the yellowed, old paper on a fireplace, around which children had gathered. It was to be burnt. The children wanted to see red sparks. When the tiny sparks lifted straight into the Sun the Flax once again felt happiest in the world.