Sentimental Journeys

I come from the village where the fragrance of lemons intoxicated my senses.

Walking through the paddy fields brushing my hand against the grains that filled our souls.

I embraced the season of mangoes enriching my life with their sweetness.

I remember sitting near the open stove to warm our hands as my grandmother boiled the rice

She made morsels for me and my cousins to eat with potatoes and chicken.

One by one we took turns to be fed.

She sang rhymes to keep us entertained while she scooped the rice from the plate to put into our mouths.

We waited patiently for her warmth filled us with joy and comfort.

Wandered blithely around the stove to pick up dishes for a helping hand.

Then, we counted the little chicks hatched in the pen.

We squealed with excitement as she picked them up one by one.

She fed them too with her generous hand.

She did not have the riches of the world as people know rich to be.

Her gentle kindness was the richest for me.

She is the jewel in my heart that sparkles in every memory.

As I recall my earlier days, a plate of rice is image of my treasury.