There is an old and well aired fable that is often told by Tibetan Lamas on various occasions. I always enjoy hearing it as it brings up rather clear visual associations and instantly helps to shift the perspective on things. Here i offer my own embellished version.
One evening, a farmer looked out over his fields as they shimmered in the golden sunshine. The gentle ripple of a breeze ruffled the laden bushels and cast a hazy sheen into the westering light.
The lone voice of a peasant rose and fell in the silent air. In that moment all felt well in the world and he was pleased; even joyful.
Looking out over his fields he knew that this season would be unusually good. He would have an ample harvest and there would be money and food to spare.