We live in the countryside, between hills and mountains.
My father owned the big corn field,
I owned friends and -when I was lucky- used to spend my days with the smiling girls from the village nearby.
Until he disappeared.
Nothing left of my father, except the field.
It seemed that anything, here, would have been the same again.
I was desperate, then that man came, one evening when the sun was about to die,
to knock on the tiny house I shared with my father just beside the field.
"Now You'll have to look at the field,
You're a big boy, help the corn grow with this seeds.
I was Your father's friend, this is my gift to You."
I planted the seeds,
and the field that had been left in a bad way,
came back more green and healthy than ever.
The young cobs were yellow as the sun,
wrapped in leaves greener than every forest I ever saw.
The work was much, every plant had its need;
soon that become my only road.
The village nearby seemed far and far away, the more my field grew up.
I saw friends no more,
and not many girls for me in the middle of the cobs.
I was always thinking of my wide field,
as the season went on and the first mists came from the mountains.
And how beautiful were the evenings.
I just stared, after a hard day of work, listening to the wind through the plants,
I felt it, a cradle for my very own thoughts.
Then into my hut, now sorrounded by millions of cobs,
I only think about my field, all nights long,
while the more cold winds begins to knock at the rotten windows.
No time to repair anything, the field needs constant attention.
Then a special evening came, after days of clouds
and it was deeper than the others
so I felt the field was ready.
and stood in the middle all night long
until a sort of day came.
Corn fields are like a maze.
With the first lights into that maze I woke up.
In company of someone
between the silent flies waiting on the long corn leaves.
As I felt its voice and sight on me, I knew the field was the only friend of mine.
I am now in the middle of the field
it tells me what to do,
that I don't have to go to the village again,
it looks after me
with my field.
ALL PHOTOGRAPHS WITH
and SIGMA 105mm f1.4 Art.
Per l'Italia SIGMA by