read.cash Log in
@Pluma

Ricefields (Short story)

"When my Uncle and Auntie invited me to spend a weekend with them in their farm,I was beside myself with joy and excitement.I had never been to a farm, and all I knew about it was what I had read or what had been told to me.At last I was to experience farm life. We left the City at one in the afternoon and arrived at their farm at about six, just slowly setting sun was going down through the tall,huge stacks of golden rice staws piled in a row.

I ran to one of the haystacks and leaned comfortably against it.I felt its soft body, and breathed in its muskiness,unmindful of the itchy sensation slowly spreading all over my body. I looked around me,fascinated by the view.The farmers were happily wending their way home, the carabaos glistening with mud were being led to the coral, the chickens were beginning to roost on their favorite branches, and the children were finishing their games. As I sat there, I watched great ball of fire slowly recede from horizon.My whole being was engulfed by the beautiful scene.No wonder how tourists and painters rave over our beautiful sunsets.

I gazed at the indescribable scene and wondered if any painter had captured on canvas that glorious blend of colors and artistic display of God's omnipotence. After the sun had set, I turned my footsteps to my Uncle's home with the realization that it is rustic places like this that one feels what true peace and tranquility of the soul means. Read.Like.Comment. Subscribe@Pluma

16 comments

Log in to join in Reading is open to everyone. Replying needs an account.