I awoke to a rooster crowing from a distance. “Funny,” I thought. “I never paid much attention to the Miller’s rooster before.”
But today was different. I felt like I was back home in the old country.
Sitting up on one side of the bed, my wonderful mind conjured up images of rice fields, nipa huts and cardboard shanties complete with the national beast of burden – the water buffalo – standing patiently by an old tamarind tree.
I could smell the fresh scent of rice stalks heavily laden with grain – ripe for harvest. My nostrils could detect the unmistakable scent of white smoke from burning straw billowing underneath the vine trellis, suffocating and driving the ladybugs and pests away while saving the long green gourds to mature unblemished. The clear mountain spring waters running down the irrigation ditch, effortlessly flowing past arrays of lotus leaves, flowers, clumps of floating water hyacinths and the exposed tangled roots of bamboo… how heavenly peaceful the sound.
Darkness diffused by early morning light signaled the beginning of a new day. My first thoughts were of home, my old village by the sea where I grew up… how precious the time I spent with my family. I thank God for granting me glimpses of these thoughts now – remembrances and snapshots of cherished time to revisit, all enshrined in the scrapbook of my soul.