I found myself in the middle of a field of grass. It has never been cut and it belongs to a close forrest, located next to the school I work for. It is a huge open space, on two sides surrounded by high trees. My group of eight kids, age 7 to 10, just wanted to pass it to go straight to the animal farm to feet the goats, but this field, with the full and fresh long grass, up to your hip, spoke out an invitation of endless play: LET'S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK!
We did. First I was the one who sought, then, someone else counted. In my responsibility of a leader, I first made sure I got the kids all together, with knowing their hiding place and in the last second, when Halis counted out loud: “Tweenty, I am coming!” I ducked down. I rolled on my back and watched the blue sky. It was 20 Degrees, the sun was shinning bright and warm in my face. Some flies buzzed over my head, one lady bird crawled up in front of my eyes on a blade of grass in front of my eyes. I felt excitement, I smelled the earth from underneath. I felt the slightly fear of my excitement, I knew from my childhood, wondering: Will I be the first one who get caught? Do I already hear the steps of the seeker? I got goosebumps. And I was wondering: When was the last time, I took time to lay down in the middle of a field, relaxing, get aware of my world and the nature around me and see the world from a different perspective? Not only up side down in laying down there on the patch of grass, but also out of the perspective of a child where time does not matter, where the “later” does not matter, where the only important thing is: can I hide myself so well, that I am the last one to find? Without getting a prize? Without getting a lolly or a “Well done, you are the master of Hide and Seek” -titel?
Just for the sake of playing, just for the sake of enjoying the moment. No more, no less. Just the here and now. I got overjoyed, just laying down there and realizing the blessing through my kids in this moment and how precious it is.
