What are the rice fields?
It reminds me of Walt Whitman:
*I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
If all else fails, I'm going to live on a rice farm
They waft coolness- the sweetest clear air I’ve ever smelled- new, and soft.
I felt as if I had traveled to the oxygen farm and got to eat of it fresh dripping from the tree. It’s that new.
Their gentle whispers kiss your ears as you glide by on motorbike, beckoning you.
*Walt Whitman: From Song of Myself (1855)
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