The symphony of the wheat field When we listen to children.
It was August and the sun was shining down on our backs. The gentle air was blowing into our hair. We were coming back home from a trip and there was only two of us. Me and Kryštof. It was a rare moment when we were enjoying each other, all the others either in front of us or behind us. We wanted to be alone together. We were talking about anything that came to mind, without any fixed theme, without waiting for a complete answer, floating in limbo between infinite thoughts. We were surrounded by the birds and animals of the forest, a wheat field and the cerulean sky with the pure white clouds above.
“Is it raining?” asked Kryštof. The thought of such an absurd question made my senses sharpen. “It’s not raining, but I can also hear rain drops,” I answered and I had to admit I hadn’t noticed this gentle sound. We stood and listened how the rain drops played their symphony on a ceiling window or tent roof. It was beautiful. Then our curiosity took over and we followed the sound, which was very close to us. Our senses led us to a wheat field, ripe and glistening like gold.
I kneeled near the field and Kryštof sat down next to me. At that moment, we discovered the wonder of nature. The ripening wheat grains were escaping so quickly that their hulls, in which they were concealed, were popping. Each of these million grains burst out with the sound of a single raindrop. The whole field thereby created a beautiful symphony, which will always be held in my memory.
Author: Lenka Míkovcová
Translation: Marek Hubbell
My experience at the wheat field reminded me of the following text from Diane Loosmans:
“If I had my child to raise over again,
I’d finger paint more, and point the finger less.
I’d do less correcting, and more connecting.
I’d take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less, and know to care more.
I’d take more hikes and fly more kites.
I’d stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I’d run through more fields, and gaze at more stars.
I’d do more hugging, and less tugging.
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I’d build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I’d teach less about the love of power,
And more about the power of love.
It matters not whether my child is big or small,
From this day forth, I’ll cherish it all. “
