On my right, the sun rose elegantly. On my left, the sun gave way to dusk. In front of me were fields of all shades of green. Under my feet was the roof of our house that stood at the northern street of our  small village. Our house stood facing three barns, and beyond those barns were fields that stretched beyond eyeshot: guava trees, date palms, wheat, clover, and other plants. What caught my attention as a kid weren't the annoying noise and disturbing smell coming from the barns, but how diverse the colors of the fields were! I could not describe my astonishment to any adult back then, I was a shy kid, upon seeing giant palettes of green displayed before my eyes. I would stand at the highest point on our roof and tighten my grip around whatever was in my arm-reach, as I drank in the entire world beyond my house walls, specifically the rich fields before me that stretched into the sunset and gleaming clouds in every shape.     “I want to walk to the sun,” I used to tell my mom during dinner, “can I ask Dad to take me there so I can touch it?” My mom would ask where I thought it was. “There! After the fields, I saw it before it disappeared!” I was quite an introverted child who spent most of her childhood at home, therefore I didn't possess the kind of knowledge other children in my environment possessed. They knew that at the end of the fields were the roads to the city. On the other hand, I knew for sure that the red, warm sun was over there, I saw beyond every child my age's eyeshot. But I never got to touch the sun because I've never walked that road to the far side of the fields. However, I still believe the sun rests there everyday after a long time of hanging in the sky.      For a child that never went out like me, days when I was permitted to play outside were beyond miracle but within confusion. I never had friends my age from my area. Consequently, I had to seek ways to compensate for this loneliness in me, but how? I avoided streets where kids played, since I was too timid to join in their games, which led me all the way outside my village to the east on a long dirt road. That road stretched to my left and my right, the side on my left being longer, and that's how I picked my new playground. Kids didn't play there because, for them, it didn't have much to enjoy and was too narrow for any chaotic activities. Although, for a little girl, that road seemed to seep into the entire world.     The Machine Road. A name given by my village due to the existence of a grinding machine at the beginning of it. However, when you go past the beginning, you may notice that the name is unsuitable for such a lovely thing in this world, or at least in my world. The moment you pass the machine, there's only a single house that appears right beside it. That house is nearly completely covered in wild flowers and trees of all kinds that makes it look like a tiny forest in itself, with red and small yellow flowers growing amid bushes of rich green. There were no gates, which I always saw as a sign of hospitality (the owner of this house gave me a bouquet of flowers he made himself before). Right when you pass the house, on your left and right you witness a view of freedom made for plants by mankind. On your left is a small field and past it is my village! But on your right, you wouldn't see any civilization. A wide, green field of vegetables, clover, or perhaps another plant (depends on the season). And beyond that vastness is a guava forest and a field of high, graceful date palm trees that you can see from our house! And that's how the road continues for around five minutes until you meet a nearby guava forest. The last step on the road is welcomed by an elegant, white mosque whose calls for prayers echo for miles with a heart-melting voice.     I had an hour to spend there, but it felt like time had stopped with each step I took, each dandelion I picked up and each cloud that I thought looked like a duck. I felt the sun patting me on the back with its warm, red rays every time I ran down the road from my village to the mosque, racing no one but myself and the wind, being proud of every first place I got, although I was first and last place at the same time. When I'd finally got tired of winning races I sat at the side of the road gently caressing the grass of the field with my feet and pretending that all this grass was an audience listening to me sing lullabies that I had memorized in the quietness of my home. Dandelions encouraged me to go on, date palms criticized me in a wise manner, and guava trees were waiting for more. By the end of my show, the sky has already changed to a warmer color. As I walked back I waved to the sun, asking it whether it enjoyed spending time with me.