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an evening in a village essay

The village has always been known to be a place of peace and quiet. The scattered houses among hundreds of plants and trees indicate the lack of activities in the village.The workers in the village leave their homes early in the morning to work in the plantations or towns near by. Some have their own plantations, and some make certain articles in their homes to sell them in the towns. A few of the villagers, including women, go out to catch fish in the streams and rivers found in the village. Though the people of the village do not usually earn much, they seem to be contented.In the afternoon, most of the villagers are at home. Some of them take a nap after lunch, do some work in their small gardens or pay some visit to the small shops in the village. In various parts of the village, children may be found playing the popular games of the village. Occasionally, a cyclist passes by.In the evening, the villagers meet one another. Some play cards and other types of games which are peculiar to the village. Some talk about the day’s incidents in the village, and those whose minds go beyond the village discuss world events.In almost every village there is a headman whose duty is to settle quarrels among the villagers and maintain peace in the village. Whenever there is a dispute, the villagers go to the headman who is held in such esteem that his words have the force of law. In this way the villagers have developed their own simple laws, and the crimes of cities are almost unknown to the people of the village.During a festival, the whole village is alive with activities. Everyone is in a happy mood and plays his part to make the festival a success. This is the time for the men, women and children of the village to wear their best clothes and the village is full of color.These simple ways of life in the village, however, must soon change. Progress in science and education has already begun to affect the outlook of the people in the village. Hundreds are leaving the village to seek their fortunes in the towns and cities.

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I came across a meadow once that looked as if it had stepped from the pages of a storybook. The grass was Eden-green and thigh-high to a thrush. The mountains in the distance had peaks that looked as cruel as a hag’s teeth. It was the only part of the meadow that looked off in some way. The rest of it was paradise.

It wasn’t just the sights that pleased the senses. The sounds, smells and tastes were out of this world also. The sky above the meadow was a feast for the eyes. It stretched as far as the eye could see in a dome of cocktail-blue, punched with fluffy clouds. Squeaking swallows chased whirring dragonflies in a dance of life and death.

A neon-blue ribbon of river ran through the centre of the meadow. A party of yolk-yellow ducklings scattered from under my feet as I approached it, crashing into the water. The song of the river was very gentle as it went plinking and tinkling over the gravel bed.

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