shining blackness. Birds were flocking in: gulls and rooks, mostly, looking for the food turned over by the ploughshare. In the far distance a fox was slinking around the edge, working his way towards a ditch down which he eventually glided like a red phantom, disappearing from sight once again. You seemed lost in thought, said Soldier, when I came upon you? I am a religious man, replied the farmer, quietly. That is, I do not pray to the gods overmuch, but I listen to the voice of the natural world around me. I have my ear to the beating of its heart. I feel the spirit of the land mingling with my own spirit. Its a good feeling. I can acknowledge that it would be hard to be here in these tranquil surroundings and not be a philosopher of some kind. What do you think of war and warriors? You see me? I am a commander. I take lives into battle and return sometimes empty-handed. Do you despise such men and women as me, who seek glory, rather than listening to the song of the earth? The farmer thought hard about this for a few moments. I dont despise you, for I dont know you, or what drives you to seek this glory. I can only say I have no interest in such things. It depends on which inner voice youve been taught to listen to. In all of us there is the voice which tells us to be satisfied with the world as it is, to borrow it for a time to grow our food. There is another voice which tells us to go adventuring, seek beyond the horizons, change the world, try to OUT! it. If you follow the second voice you will no doubt run into conflict. I am on my way to kill men, or be killed, said Soldier. I saw you and envied you. I am jealous of the way in which you meld with the landscape, while I stand out like an awkward projection in my body armour and bristling with weapons. I wished I could be you, I envy you for the things you will see, replied the big farmer, and your experiences in new countries, in new climes, but you have a huge price to pay for those amazing encounters. I could not soak my soul in the blood of others to reach such things, however marvellous they be. The farmer took a skin of water from his plough handle and offered it to Soldier. Both men drank deeply. The farmer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before he made a confession. Once upon a time, he said, I thought I could change the world. I sought to control things around me too. Listen: I was a young man, wandering the seashore, when I heard the waves moving the pebbles on the beach hundreds and thousands of them each with their own note, striking others with different notes, being of a variety of sizes and types of stone. I thought to myself, Here is the chance to create a wonderful symphony of nature. I went to work. I spent a whole year arranging the pebbles behind a wall of sand, into types and size so that they would give out their notes in some sort of musical order. I wished to create a recognisable melody from their shuffling, a song or a tune which would impress other men with the music of sea and stone. Here the farmer sighed and looked to the horizon. Of course, I did not reckon with the wildness of my player. I had the instrument, all set up, ready to make the right sounds in the right places, but the ocean would not obey me. When I removed the barrier the waves came in at different heights, different strengths, and even changed their direction by the day, the hour, the minute. What resulted was the usual natural cacophony produced by the elements. Soldier was sympathetic. Im sorry for that. I admire the power of your ideas, even if the execution proved impossible. But I did not learn! cried the farmer, throwing his arms into the air. I did the same thing again. I heard the dawn chorus one morning. How beautiful, I thought, but how much better it could be. This time I believed I could control things, since I was dealing with live creatures, and not the random effects created by storms and calms, the unpredictability of the weather. I chose to
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