There is something mesmerising about watching the wind blow over a field of corn.
The effect is amplified on days with broken cloud, when the sun joins in and casts shadows that effortlessly slide over the undulating sea of ripening stalks.
Stand and stare for long enough and you begin to feel that you might be connected to some deeper truth about the nature of reality.
The swaying movements appear regular and predictable, but aren’t. Single stalks seem to have a mind of their own, yet they form part of a pattern that is almost entirely meaningless on the level of the individual.
Notions of separation are also denied by the noise of a million heads rubbing against one another, creating a gentle hissing noise that, once you allow it inside, happily permeates every cell of your existence.
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