I dream again of being able to lay down on the grass, with my hands curled behind my head, the sun’s not too glare while the breeze is softly swooshing at my cheeks and I am looking up, counting sheep at the sky.
I remembered doing when I was in third grade and Grandma would let us come with her during harvesting time of corns. Together with my elder brother Noy, we would pack our school bags with sweat shirts, pajamas or chinos even though it’s summer because Mum kept on telling us that of course we couldn’t resist not going to the cornfields and run around. Those clothes will protect us from the itch caused by the corn plant and as well as cuts if suddenly we ran into the field.
We would wake up early in the morning, drink our favorite Milo drink and munch on hard-boiled eggs prepared by Grandma of course. Then we’ll gear up with those sweat shirts and chinos and off we go the cornfields. When the sun’s too much to bear, we would set up a shade made of umbrellas and line sacks on top of the freshly cut corn plants so that we could sit, observe the workers and count the mound of corns being harvested. That’s pretty much our role.
Cloud gazing comes late in the afternoon, when it’s not that hot anymore and the breeze will be cool coming down from the mountain top to the plains, the rice fields.
It has been ages. Making fun of cloud formations, making stories out of it and telling who and what it looks alike. That peace in the moment, I miss it.