In the distance, the village was lush with trees. Farmhouses peeked through the dense foliage, and plumes of smoke curled into the sky. Although no sound could be heard, one could feel the bustling energy of life.
She quickly cut a good amount of green grass, clearing three of the four ridges of the square rice paddy. Looking at the piles of green grass behind her, she set down her sickle with satisfaction, then pulled up a handful of rice straw and, just as she'd planned, sat down on the ridge.
Although the rice had been stored in the granary, the straw hadn't been carried home yet. It was tied into bundles that stood in the field like cones. The chickens would occasionally peck at the bundles, perhaps having found unthreshed grains of rice or insects hiding in the straw.
Occasionally, a chicken's leg rope would get tangled in the straw. The chicken would struggle free with a hard tug, pulling the bundle down. It would startle itself and hastily hop away.
