Let It Flow

“Pusti vodu,” dida called to me, pointing at the water hose as I was heading out for a walk. He wanted to garden, and now, my walk was on hold.

I turned the tap on, feeling a pang of irritation. This wasn’t the first time my plans had been derailed by a seemingly trivial task. It was a beautiful day, and the path that wound through the fields was calling my name. But dida needed the water, and he needed me to be there.

The water splashed into the buckets as dida hummed a tune, tending to his plants with a care that seemed to transcend time. He looked content, completely absorbed in his world of soil and leaves.

“I won’t be long,” he promised, looking up and catching my eye. But his definition of “not long” and mine were worlds apart.

I leaned against the wall, watching him work. My feet itched to be on the move, but instead, they were rooted to the spot, a slave to the tap.

As the minutes ticked by, I found my irritation starting to wane. There was something about the way dida worked, a rhythm and a grace that was captivating. He moved with purpose, every motion a piece of a greater whole.

“Almost done,” he called, his voice soft with concentration.

I smiled, despite myself. The walk could wait. There was something valuable in this moment, something I hadn’t expected to find.

“Zatvori te,” he finally said, giving me the signal to close the tap.

I turned off the water. He thanked me with a clap on the back, his eyes twinkling with a wisdom that seemed to say he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

The walk was still there, waiting for me. But as I headed down the path, I found my step a little lighter, my mind a little clearer. Sometimes, the most mundane tasks could teach the most profound lessons, if only we were willing to stop and pay attention.

I glanced back at the garden, at dida still working, and felt a surge of gratitude. He had given me more than a chore; he had given me a moment of clarity. My time by the tap wasn’t lost; it was a gift, a reminder of what truly mattered.

The sun was still high, the path still open. I walked on, but the lesson stayed with me, a simple truth wrapped in the words, “Pusti vodu.” Let the water flow. Sometimes, that’s all we need to do.

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