As it sprays water, you stand by the field, and watching it brings a sense of warmth to your heart.

As it sprays water, you stand by the field, and watching it brings a sense of warmth to your heart.

You happen to be standing by the field when it starts spraying. Fine mist drifts from the nozzles, like a spring drizzle, landing on the corn leaves, the bean vines, and the newly sprouted seedlings. The sun is still high, but where the mist passes, it feels cool and moist.

You watch the seedlings, their leaves glistening with water droplets; the soil, slowly deepening in color, becoming soft. Water droplets roll off the leaves, dripping into the soil, seeping into the roots. The seedlings drink, the soil drinks, and you, standing there, feel as if you are drinking along with them.

You feel a sense of warmth in your heart. Not just the warmth of the water itself, but the warmth of seeing the seedlings thrive, seeing the soil nourished, seeing everything getting better. Before, when watering the fields, your heart was dry—running around, tired, worried, with no time for warmth. Now it's different; you stand there, and it's working; you watch, and it's sprinkling. Your heart slowly relaxes, slowly softens.

A breeze blows, and the mist drifts onto your face, cool and refreshing. You don't flinch, you just stand there, letting it drift. Your face is softened, and so is your heart. All those worries of the past few years, those days of tormenting over water, seem to have been washed away by this mist.

As it sprays water, you stand by the ground watching, and your heart feels softened too. From this day forward, your land is softened, and so is your heart.