2025.09.14
Jane had long been the title of her The dreams of a harvest. His job was not just to collect wheat or to collect, nor to protect the grains. Instead, he took hold of the unbeaten essence of himself – he whispered to the people as soon as he put the seeds, when he thanked the bread for touching his lips, he could flourish in the fields after the drought.
His chamber was neither a field nor a storehouse, but a room of light where pieces of golden poles float deep, endless blue. Within this brightness, every grain shines with memory. The farmers who lost everything have got their flexibility. The children who had a glimpse of hunger. Jane did not submit these scenes. He released them in the world, scattered like a jirga carrying them.
At night, when the silence is deep, Jane will detect the star of hope that shone unconsciously in her chamber. It was a delicate light, but she knew that she had the power to awaken life. Every morning, he touched it gently, and by contacting him, out of the unseen blessings – to the kitchen, to the fields, to the flour -dropping hands. The star did not illuminate, yet he endured, and it was enough to keep the living cycle alive.
People never knew his name, nor did they realize that their power was touched by his silent wages. But whenever someone broke the bread with grateful, Jane felt the pulse of her happiness, as if the whole world was whispering to her: We remember, we tolerate, we grow.