It’s quite frigid in the field. I longed for the flock of birds to return. In the past, there was a green grass field and clear blue sky where those birds enjoyed their freedom. After the stormy day, everything got demolished, so the birds fled from the devastated field. Unfortunately, the birds never returned where they belonged, leaving the song from the rice field echoing lonely ever since.
There used to be several flocks of colorful birds gathering around the pond engulfed with leafy grass and various lavish plants. Those birds built up their nests flew into the sky, soaked up some water, and danced together. Several kinds of fish swam randomly in the pond. My place was close to Phanom Hill where the river flowed from. Every day, the bitterns flew past my home and the doves liked to stay on top of the lamp post. Some of them caught the branches of the tree or a banana tree.
Nonetheless, everything has changed like every place around the world. Currently, the birds have gone as they were hunted.