Remember the wind caressing your face,
Remember the dirt in your hands,
Remember the rain running down your face,
Remember the sun warming your body…
And you will remember who you are.
When we were children and it was time to harvest, the whole town came together and worked side by side. The ripened wheat sang in the wind, hands intertwined, time slowed down. At noon, everything stopped. The silence of the sun, the scent of the earth. We ran through the fields as if we were bathing in the sea. We dived into the wheat like if we were surfing golden waves,
And then there was that smell…
A smell you can only remember.
Warm, dry, alive: the smell of wheat kissed by the sun.
If the Sun had a scent, for us it would be exactly this...
The sun burns slowly on the horizon, gilding the wheat fields that sway like a summer sea. The air is warm, filled with a scent that speaks of earth, its shared struggles and joys. Each breath is a return to a time when the world smells of sunlight and simpleness, bright and warm.
