I was born and brought up on a farm.
I spent my childhood roaming like a wild colt.
I climbed fruit trees to eat their gifts,
climbed where birds built their nests and raised their young,
collected the discarded nests, fed the chickens,
gathered eggs from the coop, played with calves,
milked the nannies, chased fish in the brook,
watered the plants, and ran after wild rabbits…
One afternoon, I saw a ripe mango.
I climbed the tree, plucked it, and ate it,
resting my back against a branch.
The air was warm, a cool breeze stirred,
and I dozed off. I don’t know how long I slept.
I dreamed—an angel descending as a white dove,
saying, “Son, it is getting late. Wake up and go home.”
I woke to see a dove nearby.
I reached out my hand, but it flew away.
Was it a dream, or a message from heaven?
Birds wheeled homeward in the sky.
I went home, did my chores, bathed,
ate dinner, and fell asleep.
Such incidents were common—
God speaking to me through nature.
Now, with industrialization,
with people moving to cities,
living in concrete jungles,
the connection with nature is lost—
and with it, the communication with heaven.
