When the mist rises, the crops feel refreshed, as if they've been gently drizzled.

When the mist rises, the crops feel refreshed, as if they've been gently drizzled.

At midday, when the sun is at its strongest, you turn on the sprinkler. It's not a flood, but a fine mist drifts from the nozzles, like a spring drizzle, softly and gently falling on the crops. The corn leaves are glistening with water droplets; the bean vines are wet and droop lower; the newly sprouted seedlings, drenched by the mist, stand tall and spirited.

You stand at the edge of the field, watching, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. It's not watering, it's giving the crops a bath; it's not working, it's watching a performance. The mist drifts, the sun shines, and a rainbow occasionally flashes within the mist. The seedlings have drunk just the right amount, neither too much nor too little, just right.

Watering used to be so difficult. Flooding would wash water everywhere, flooding the seedlings, flattening the soil—it was heartbreaking to waste water. Now, the mist rises, each drop falling precisely where it should, no more, no less, no waste. The crops are enjoying the moisture, and you're enjoying it too.

The sun continues to shine, the mist continues to drift. The seedlings sway gently in the mist, as if enjoying a light rain. You squat by the field, watching the water droplets roll off the leaves, drip into the soil, and seep into the roots. You know that this afternoon, they will grow taller; this season, they will yield more.

When the mist rises, the crops are like they've been showered, feeling comfortable and refreshed. From today onward, your land will be bathed in a light rain every day.