when winters had just passed and as if summer was thawing every little creature from it's hibernation and bringing them back to life, wheat fields use to be lush green and superfluous variety of flowers sprinkling around from mother earth.
i miss that lying down on itchy grass stubs left after cutting and strangely enough my head also felt the same after fresh haircut, it was as if the lap was open and i was to lye down and sleep, just like that until the knowledge of worms scorpions and snakes prevented me from doing so! i kept doing it and it was the best.
i remember myself running behind the mayflies and get overtired in evening and eating my dinner from coercive hands of grandma while my eyes were sleepy and lids were droopy.
i remember building that dam in the rains which would break from one place when i'd patch other never understanding that i can't tame the wild water forever, but more importantly i miss myself trying again and again without for once thinking that I've failed until i was told that it is bad to fail and made to believe that it might not be that great to try again.
and most of all there were those ventures which were exclusively for me and even now when i smell the grass being freshly cut i find myself going into a amazing slumber at conscious level which is comforting at the very thought of the existence of that unaware carelessness and creativity within resulting into something, or nothing, which actually never use to matter, but the very process was so engrossing that i use to spend hours in those early spring days.
i miss that lying down on itchy grass stubs left after cutting and strangely enough my head also felt the same after fresh haircut, it was as if the lap was open and i was to lye down and sleep, just like that until the knowledge of worms scorpions and snakes prevented me from doing so! i kept doing it and it was the best.
i remember myself running behind the mayflies and get overtired in evening and eating my dinner from coercive hands of grandma while my eyes were sleepy and lids were droopy.
i remember building that dam in the rains which would break from one place when i'd patch other never understanding that i can't tame the wild water forever, but more importantly i miss myself trying again and again without for once thinking that I've failed until i was told that it is bad to fail and made to believe that it might not be that great to try again.
and most of all there were those ventures which were exclusively for me and even now when i smell the grass being freshly cut i find myself going into a amazing slumber at conscious level which is comforting at the very thought of the existence of that unaware carelessness and creativity within resulting into something, or nothing, which actually never use to matter, but the very process was so engrossing that i use to spend hours in those early spring days.
