The boulder looked exactly the same as yesterday, he thought. He walked around it, looking at every minute detail. “Aha! There!” he said, pointing at the bottom right side of the boulder. There was a small dent he hadn’t noticed before. Even the rock changed with time. His work started when the sun rose above the horizon and went on until it set. He didn’t really need a clock when he had an eternity to live. He began the day by washing the previous day’s clothes. He put them out to dry and then ate breakfast by the tree right outside the hut. A little boy delivered his food every day, three meals a day. It was a short walk from his hut to his workplace, the hill. The hill wasn’t really massive, but it wasn’t small either. It had uneven surfaces here and there, which he thought gave it some character. There weren’t any other hills nearby. He had noticed that the south side was slightly steeper than the north, but he liked the east and north sides most. The hill changed with the weather. By then, the day was bright enough, and he could feel the sun warming the rest of the world. He started his work, but not before giving the boulder a gentle pat. It was a heavy boulder. He nudged it to the base of the hill. He was careful, yet he pushed it up the slanted surface with ease. It was just the beginning of the day; he hadn’t even started sweating yet. He needed to be careful when pushing the boulder up the hill. He couldn’t see the other side, where even a small rock or a dead root could cause trouble. By now, he knew the surface of the hill quite well. He could feel it through the boulder. It was almost second nature for him to change course at the first sign of resistance. Some days he took a steeper route, working far harder than he needed to. Some days, an easier path was all he could manage. Over the years, he realized it was not the boulder that resisted; it was the hill. Some other days, it was just himself. He reached the top and, for the briefest moment, thought the boulder would rest there. Then it started rolling down the hill toward the west side. “All right, let’s go,” he said, starting down the hill. The west side was where the only tree on the hill stood alone. The tree gave him something to be amused by. It was almost like him, bound to a single place for a long time. It was spring, and the tree had bright green leaves. “It looks happy,” he thought. The boulder had rolled down and stopped not far from the bottom. He took a deep breath and started pushing it back up again. When he began this job, he hadn’t managed to complete even one round trip in an entire day. When the sun was right above his head, it was usually lunchtime. He could only manage two trips up and down by then. The little boy kept the lunch by the hut door, rice mixed with cooked vegetables. Just tasty enough for him to enjoy every bite. He washed the lunch box, set it beside the door, and walked back to the hill. The boulder hadn’t moved an inch. He patted it and looked around for any newly chipped surface. Today is special. He has an audience with God himself. Once every three months, he sends an appeal to be relieved of his work. “Would you please consider relieving me of my work?” he asks God. God nods but doesn’t say a word. “If not, could I at least get a change of scenery? Perhaps a new hill?” God smiles. “You know my answer.” “How about a new boulder?” He stops short before finishing that request. He doesn’t mean it, he realizes. He was just complaining without realizing he is, in fact, content with what he has. He feels a strange awareness of himself. He bows to God and starts walking away. “It is not the same boulder as yesterday, nor the hill,” he thinks. Sisyphus looks at the hill, the hut, and the faraway boulder with a smile and thinks, “I am happy.”