"The tragedy of life is not death... but what we let die inside of us while we live." ~ Anonymous
I’M NOT SURE why I decided to bring my four year old brother to the paddy field this afternoon---we usually got burgers instead. Maybe because this was a fine clear day; or maybe we were both lonely and needed a change of pace.
"Big brother," he began as we leaned against the embankment separating us from the little seas of grassy rice plants, "I got a question."
A gust blew in with a whistle, sending cool breeze on my face. Inhaling the summer air, I watched as thousands of rice plants were displaced by the flow, and they rolled with the wind, clapping against each other like a distant rippling waves of green.
"I can't hear God, big brother. How do I hear God?" He asked.
I gazed upon the stretch of paddy field skirting the landscape. This expanse, usually resemble a little sea of verdant green, had been tested by recent storms, consumed by insects and littered with bird droppings, had remained my place of peace---for here, the rice field provided solace through the years since our father's death.
"You want to hear God?" I asked as little rice kernels frolic in the wind.
My little brother nodded and I leaned close. "Then," I whispered into his ear, "you have to really, really listen."
Another gust broke against the outskirt of the paddy field. I saw my brother closed his eyes and inhale the summer air.