Sunday, 14 January 2018

Describe Wind: To and From Arur Dalan

Every morning, a couple of us would make our journey towards Arur Dalan. The winds and cold air accompanied by mist like a scarf around the neck of the mountains set the tone for the day while the suns rays and buffalo poo told tale of a less lazy afternoon.

As we made our way to the field the sounds of car engines, the beat beat beat sounds of motorcyclists passing by, and the sucking noise our shoes make against the muddy ground filled my waking thought as we walk down the uneven path. Soon, we reach our destinations and begin to make our way to the respective fields we are assigned to... the clouds, hanging over us in it's pretty way, cold sawah soil and water clinging around our legs... the air is filled with chatter, laughter, and friendly banter. The fields in its vastness calls us to enter. Exhaustion, sweat, and dirt mean little in a place where contentment and serendipity tip the scales.

As we return back through the fields lined with corn, slippery roads, unruly weeds, and daun isip, you cannot help but marvel at that feeling it gives you as you slow yourself down enough to hear it's call. The lack of bustle lays claim over the imagination.

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