Fields of rolling hills, countless kernels of grain flow like the
scripts of an ancient hieroglyph. The strong breath of the bitter
wind attack the crops, as they recoil in defense; successive like
a game of dominoes.
I look upon these fields with great envy, for they flow so naturally
with nature, as they morph together and become one unified force.
I am lesser than them, although they would not tell you so; I long
to let go and be one with nature.
The farmer cultivates them, but he need not worry; for the force
of nature is far greater than that of any standing army.
No comments:
Post a Comment