Memories of dewdrops

Why is the grass shining? asked Sanskriti as we entered the countryside on our way to my farm.

It was early morning of mid October and slight chill in the air. The sun had already reached our shoulders and had charmed the greenery around with shine strewing it with crystals.

It’s all due to the dewdrops, I answered.

What’s d-e-w-d-r-o-p-s? The 10-year- old asked.  It was her father, who accompanied us replied as the vehicle sped on its way.

Having reached the farm I asked Sanskriti to walk among the grasses and the plants, which had grown all around, nurtured by the three-month long monsoon.

See my sandal… my legs too have become wet, said Sanskriti excitedly as she ran her fingers in the tall grass humming merrily.

Now I know what are dewdrops. I’m going to tell this to my friends, she said addressing no one personally.

Living in cities, amidst high rises with hardly a tree around but lawns yes, we are so bereft of the joys and pleasure Nature provide us.

It’s only while one is in the countryside that we feel and sense the changes in seasons.  For here Nature is not a nuisance, as we must city folks feel, but what makes us humans unique.  As humans we have the ability to enjoy it only once we are amidst it, and in the process unravel our true selves.

Or as Charles Dickens wrote: Nature gives to very time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.



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