Ruminating with Rumi
There is a single grain of wheat missing from the field. Did you leave it in the basket that you lost at the market? Did a pickpocket take it from your cloak? Its disappearance is a mystery. It clung to you on that warm summer’s day when you walked from the field of gold into your lover’s arms. It was relieved to be free. You were part of its plan to see the world. Maybe it fell from you unknowingly onto your beloved. Maybe for a moment it lingered before dropping to the ground. Did the sole of a shoe carry it on the path, or does it lie in the dust along a forgotten road? How long will this mystery last? The field weeps for its return.