Wheat field

The wheat fields that gave their lives and nourishment were all over the mountains, and one part of them were placed on different hillsides. The hillside is inclined to the angle of the eaves and the Reaper’s back, accompanying the growth of the years. The flat wheat field cut through the original peace of the hillside. The hillside was not calm. From then on, there was the cultivation, sweat, pain and singing of life and life. From then on, there was the name called terrace and scyck, since then, these names have been wiped bright and bright by sweat. The split flat fields are like the steps of the city climbing to the peak of the tourist attractions. The orderly steps are like the electronic originals arranged manually in digital appliances, it marks the symmetrical position and number. The terraced fields on the hillside always have only the original shape of the hillside. The East and the West are high and low, long and short, big and small, straight and curved, randomly arranged and casually matched, lost any level and rule casually, no order, no primary and secondary order, no favourable decoration, no matter which block is carved with green oil wheat seeds, it is a meaningful poem of coarse mine. One by one scattered poem, folded into the whole valley, like a roll of rolling volumes, rich and ancient, clear and majestic. The late spring breeze startled the songs of Azalea birds dripping blood in the wheat field, and there were also many modest struggles and breaths. The stubborn wheat seedlings could withstand the depression of the cold outside the soil, try to get out of the sharp head and thin body, and begin to listen to the restlessness of spring when nature just wakes up. The wheat fields with rough mining lines and the hidden paths like snake bellies are drawn one by one, leading the flexible strings of mountains and wild fields, the diligent insects, the wild eagle flying in the sky and a low cloud blooming like a mushroom, jump up the happy and comfortable notes in the spring. The spring breeze danced and waved its flourishing fingers, stirring the low sound of insects, the long song of birds, the sorrow of clouds, the patrol of Eagles and the loneliness of mountains and fields. Dandelion carefully opened the small yellow umbrella and watched the life-and-death roaring war launched by Ant Brigade and earthworms on the road. Shandandan slowly exposed crimson petals, inducing the passing butterfly to stop its long journey, reluctant to open your beautiful wings. The mountain was quiet, and a clear spring was gurgling in the north of the mountain rocks with the coolness of the mountain. Only beauty called musicians could enjoy the nectar and jade liquid produced by nature. The beautiful and pure musicians enjoy themselves tirelessly, with the toughness of the mountains and the ignorance of the seasons. The movement of spring has not been finished yet, and the wheat ears rising from jointing have inadvertently broken the season balance. -Style fingers a sudden end. Xia’s footsteps couldn’t help stepping onto the stage of performance. That is a young man in the mountains, strong, young and solid. As soon as he stepped on the stage, he made the flat wheat field as monotonous as the feathers of immature young birds, and gave birth to the strong wheat field as the black hair of young girls, the green and green mountains, the wind came again, and the undulating melody was twitched from the hillside. A song was full of the smell that wheat was going to mature and wet, rolling the warlords of the throbbing wave of love, and began to flow, flow, flow in the depth of the hillside,! The maturity of the season makes the wheat field more mature. The mature wheat field bid farewell to the dryness in early spring and the green and wet in early summer, meet comes crop of another crop hot air and cool breeze alternating blowing of pain, therefore, the Sun Golden contracted wheat skin, first 1.1 point, then is a piece, but later on, it was a lot, from head to foot, all over the mountains and plains, vigorous and fast. In a flash of effort, the mountains were dyed into countless golden poems, and the hillside was hot and could not be filled any more, gold poured down along the hillside, flowing, flowing, becoming a waterfall, hanging on the cliffs of the season! Wheat field, where is it hidden? You no longer belong to you, you have been melted by seasons and light! Hay! June 6, busy and busy, whose embroidered daughter got out of bed. The path is curved, like thin Acacia lines, holding those tiny steps until the wheat field lost its tenderness kissed by the fierce sun. A box of small terraced fields that cannot be smaller. Scalding no longer needs enthusiasm, what it needs is the moisture of spring water and sweat, what it needs is the condensation of sickles and wrists, the tiny and stubborn wheat seedlings, and the perseverance of copper all over the body, in the refining of the sickles and sweat, there is no reason for them to surrender, in front of the sickles and sweat. Small pieces of wheat fields slowly exposed bare wheat Awn, and those wheat Awn as sharp as the needle tip pierced through the childhood of many young girls and young men. Time seemed to become fast. The time of wheat field changed as soon as it turned around. The wheat field behind him left a large blank of wheat Awn, just like the youth without any harvest and the dazzling eyes of white flowers, ache! The wheat fields poured through by the sun gradually became empty in the cheers of sickles and the moaning of sweat hitting the painful soil, with more and more wheat and more empty, maimang can’t keep out the flowing season, just like holding cheap arms can’t keep out the fleeting youth. In the hot sun like fire, I ran happily on the wheat field, picked up the dripping wheat ears and watched the last footprints removed from the wheat field. The wheat field was blank, and the whole valley was blank. In the lonely heart of the sun, what did Maimang count? It is nothing but a broken gun left behind the blade and sword in the ancient battlefield, but an old scar left in the bottom of my heart after love. If you lose it, you lose it. What’s the use of picking it up again? It is better to bury it in the soil of years and add some nutrients to the harvest in the coming year! Heavy wheat fields say goodbye to the busiest days of the year and look forward to the birth of the next reincarnation. Just like a teenager saying goodbye to the most precious youth in his life, the youth of a teenager has no reincarnation. Don’t say goodbye. Leave hope next time. When you are lonely, Choosing Hope is also a kind of wisdom. If you feel painful, you will sing a rainy song with the season and cool down for the sadness going deep into the marrow. Rain is water and the cycle of water. Water is the source of life and the cycle of life. Wheat field carries the moisture of life as well as the weight of life. In the cool night rain, I am looking forward to the next reincarnation! Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) change the way to continue to stay with this city I went out at 6 o’clock in the morning and came back at almost 8 o’clock in the evening. 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Stolen chapters of a one hour

It is three o’clock in the afternoon, no wind, no rain and no sunny day. I am alone in the open and quiet library Hall. There are small round tables and simple chairs in log color, and small and lovely green plants are placed on the table. Put down the exhaustion and the inner boredom, and look at the emptiness and spring outside the window quietly. A flower tree with purple and white colors is something I have never seen before. Those radish flowers that open in brown-red soil are shiny. There was a car passing by hurriedly, and the sound of dogs came. An old farmer was also seen walking slowly with pig grass and firewood. Here is the edge of the city, and also the treasure land for self-seeking. Perhaps only in such a place can the impetuous heart get a moment of peace. This is my first time to come here, which is a little different from my imagination. There was neither the bustle of people coming and going, nor the crowded seats. There is no modern electronic equipment to realize self-borrowing, and even not many books. There are few books in the borrowing room and few books in the literature area. There are some novels, proses and poems, but what I want to read may not be found, and what I find may not be what I like. I casually took two proses and an interesting exchange diary. There are not many kinds of magazines and newspapers in the reading room, and the number is also very small. Because of the reason that it was just decorated soon, the smell was pungent, and it was difficult to open my eyes after browsing several magazines in a hurry. I went downstairs to the area I liked, sat quietly, read the borrowed books, and found myself hungry. I thought it would be better if there was a cup of tea and a piece of bread. I like quietness, such a quiet place and simple prose. It is probably that I am empty-minded, unable to hold too many things, and unable to put myself in a noisy and complicated environment. I like life like short prose, which is clean and simple, fresh and natural, but the true feelings flow and intriguing. Without the thick and huge novels, without the elegance and difficulty of poetry. Yes, just a natural, a calm. If you get a period of leisure time and feel a kind of beauty, you will get a little happiness and a little satisfaction. The world is so big and time is so fast, I just want to stop my steps. It is said that the sound of flowers is like beautiful music, that life in spring can dance in the sun, and that as long as we are quiet enough, we can hear our hearts talking with ourselves, it is said that we can find an omnipotent language by listening to our own voices, and we can communicate and talk with everything around us. Then, let me calm down, stretch my body, put my hands flat, close my eyes and find the world that belongs to me. Now, at four o’clock in the afternoon, I should go home. Thank you for the small world of the library, for the hour that belongs to me, for the spring scenery outside the window, and for all the beauty. I will come again to the place where books are popular. I will listen to the voice of my heart. Busy life, I will be happy! Like (prose editor: dancing alone with rain) the snow in spring Spring elimination snow, multi-the yao nian, unspoken. Reading from afar, it is just above that snowfield. The snow is really beautiful, after all it is spring… Waiting Waiting is a kind of persistence, sticking to a certain belief and never giving up. Maybe because of a certain commitment, or because of a certain… Be good at listening to different voices and opinions On October 6th, I published a travel essay: “beautiful autumn scenery”, which was obtained by many literary websites… Read The Bridges of Madison County “When the white moth spreads its wings, you can come to me at any time”. I think, if I am a man, be accepted… From today on, I want to be happy I read “the biography of Hulan River” long time ago, and I remember that I was really in a heavy mood for a long time. Which characters caused me… Sick time I sneezed one after another these days. I said someone was reading me and others said I was sick. Finally, the doctor also said I was…