Five O’clock on Thursday, a friend summons me to her farm. Excited, I rush from my day to find her 12 miles away at the back of her house on a plank that overlooks green rolling hills dotted with cheerful black cows. The sky is blue and warm with marshmallow clouds scattered and moving slowly. The absence of noise is boldly noticeable. A bird chirps breaking silence; Then a mooing cow. Such distractions sink me deeper into a mind of peace.
Would an overabundance of such richness sour my ambition? Could this feeling of completeness last forever if I lived among the bucolic cattle? My friend says she needs people around her; big city stimulation and action for some of the day to feel the deepness of her solitude. Yin-Yang, plus-minus. There is no day without night, I suppose, and Spring would never be so sincerely appreciated without a brutal shove from Winter.