The Tip of the Iceburg: Only the Beginning


The Fields of Precious Dreams

I sensed a fragrance I thought I would never experience throughout my country life. Flowers cover the ground where I stand until I can’t see my boots. Yards and yards of them, more than our eyes can see. The wind blew them from different sides of the field, eventually allowing me to have goose bumps that scattered all over my body.
The texture of the damp soil wrapped around my boots, making me sink slowly to the core of earth. The taste of lunch lingers in my mouth, morphing the sweet corn sweeter than ever. The sky was a soft shade of blue, and the sun eased my thoughts and feelings. As the clouds cross the sky, I patiently count all the flowers that reached the sky.
These flowers took an eighth of Dad’s farm, so he would someday pass it on to me, just like what Grampa did to him. In the middle of this claimed territory, was where chrysanthemums were located, my most favorite flower. The colors made a contrast from each other, every color standout with such intensity. But do I?

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