Mai is yellow -Fu Shuai

Every summer harvest, I will emerge in my mind, the painter Luo Zhongli's oil painting "Father" -whelmed, under the scorching sun, an old man's head is wrapped in sweat towels, folds, and eyes are confused. The fingers are wrapped in gauze, and a few messy beards are picked around the cracked lips. The sparse teeth do not know how much life suffering. This painting deeply moved me with a strong visual impact and extreme realism. Every time I stare at it, I seem to feel the temperature and breathing of the elderly, capture the shadows of grandfather, father and many folks.

Some people say that farmers can only be confident if they stand on their own land, and they are humble once they leave the land. I feel that I am a farmer in the city. In retrospect, the pain in the scorching sun, the tiredness of sweating when the wheat harvest, and the lack of long -term bending down, which made me very young at the time, and I was eager to jump out of the farmer through reading. Do the farm work, especially no longer collecting wheat. Many years later, I returned to my hometown again in the urging voice of the rotary yellow rotary bird, and ran around the land that my ancestors had stepped through countless times. In this vast wheat field, a kind of happiness that was drowned by wheat waves permeated the whole body. The ears of the wheat beside me were plump and plump than a plant. Butterflies and dragonflies danced on the tip of the wheat. My thoughts also inserted wings and traveled through time and space. The most unforgettable burn the wheat ears with my childhood playmates. A grain of the ground seemed to mess with the baby in the middle of the middle. Take your head up, slide the wheat grains into your mouth, close your eyes and chew, and the dark fragrance between the lips and teeth, steamed buns, pot helmets, oil cakes, noodles ... The pasta has already emerged in front of the eyes.

The rotary yellow rotary bird is still screaming without darkness, the wheat is really yellow! His father's footsteps began to become rapid. He had to rush to the wheat field before the sun came out, and check whether the wheat mature. Once this time, the light of the sun and the yellowing wheat will partner the eyes of the deceit, so as to open the sickle prematurely, the sickle will be opened prematurely. Harvest causes human reduction. "Musching the knife by mistake" is a mantra that his father often hangs on his mouth. Look at the thin rock of crescents under the roots of the soil wall, and know how much wheat harvested in his father's life. Several sickle under the eaves had been cleaned up by his father, waiting for the pillow, and the sickle blade was shiny in the sun, just like the sword when the sword came out of the sheath, like the hissing before the war horse came out! In addition, the wheat field, through the heavy crushing of Shi Yanlu, became a flat exhibition and porcelain, waiting to welcome a bundle of wheat to appear.

When Mai's unique yellow roll was rolled to each hill in the village, a grand labor began. At this time, the guys who went out to work were like a migratory bird who returned to the nest. She tied into the yellow and brilliant wheat waves. Chengmai Tianyian.

The hot sun arrow shot like an unstoppable wheat field. The wheat straw was squeaked, as if a match could ignite the air. The farmers' bodies were bent into arched, and the sweat beads were dried up like the weeds in the ground, and repeatedly. The clothes soaked in sweat sticking to the body and the body, attracting mosquitoes to rush, and frequently strikes. For these, farmers have long been accustomed to the joy of the bumper harvest defeat the burning and irritability of the limbs. The entire stubble of the whole wheat stubble exudes a wet grass aroma. Once the sickle is opened, people are often used to silence, and only the sound of brushing when the sickle and the straw are in contact with them. In the shade not far away, some people drank water while pulling their home. It was nothing more than that this year was good. The wheat was thick and the arms were expensive. Occasionally someone in the Central Central Mai Farm looked up at the sun, wiped the sweat on the forehead, stunned a few sore waist arms, and bent down like a full bow ...

The face of the doll in June, saying that it changes. A piece of black clouds crossed the hill, everyone's expression was tight, handsome, and the harvested wheat was afraid of rain! The young people who move and run quickly will first arrive at the wheat field and bundle the wheat that is drying into a hill -like wheat stack; sometimes the heavy rain comes quickly, not given people time to respond, and often people are still still there are still people still in Half the road, it has become a chicken of the soup. People on the wheat field are like a tireless ant, and they are busy back and forth. When they were busy, everyone was so tired that they had no strength, and they sat on the beside wheat pork with a big mouth and gasped. Sometimes the wheat dumpling is just good, with a windy wind, the clouds are scattered, and the sun hangs directly in the sky. It turns out that God just wants to make a joke with people, and someone will complain in the crowd: "This life is the ghost weather! "Sometimes I also encounter even rainy rain. I did n’t mean to stop for three or two days.

The farm work of Wuhuang June was like the flowers of spring, one wave of waves, which was overwhelming. The farmers who had just ended the harvesting, pulling, and palletrics took advantage of the gap between the beauty of Tiandong and put it into a new battle. Listening, the roar of the decarrency machine sounded on the wheat field again, the sound like a hungry and angry beast, swallowing a bundle of wheat day and night. All. At this time, the township neighbors showed unprecedented friendship and solidarity when facing this agricultural that requires collective collaboration. If you do n’t believe it, the decarcula machine sounds, and people put down the work in their hands, carrying the iron pupae and wooden crickets to rush to the wheat field. , Pick a few tadpoles of wheat stalks, raise a few puppets, the contradictions will also fade, and the relationship between the two people will be repaired a lot. On the summer night, the moonlight was like water, and the frog sounded. The men who ran for a day carrying the sun rushed to the river. Don't think anyone. Everyone soaked in the river water together, relaxing the body and mind, so that the flowing water was flushed away for a day of heat and fatigue. At this time, the night seemed extremely cool and silent, and the fish seemed to feel this comfort, playing happily, chasing, biting between people's bodies .....

A wheat harvest of Longkou was close to the end, and the courtyard of the households was piled up with golden wheat grains. People stepped on the hot sun -barefoot plate, stirred wheat grains with a rake, sweeping the wheat bran and wheels over and over again, and picked up the earth and stone habit. A pinch of wheat grains, biting in the mouth, and a rare smile on the dark face. Xinmai entered the house, and the house was full of new wheat incense. The people who were busy lying on the cymbal on the cymbal in their mouths, humming Qin Qin in their mouths. At this time, the hostess at home will make the housekeeping ability, and make the noodles and hard, kneading, rolling, and cutting thinner to make a bowl of fresh and fragrant zongzi noodles, oil pour noodles, and slurry surface ... Em

The folks who bowed in the wheat field for a lifetime, accompanied the wheat to complete the reincarnation of life-from the green seedlings to the extraction of the pregnancy, from the golden golden golden to the dense granules, from the fragrant jade to the gorgeous butterfly change, and the beginning and the beginning, the life is not born. interest. A stubble wheat raised a generation of children, and it also exhausted the years and youth of the ancestors. The same old people in the village and his father were harvested by the years. Some young people also chose to leave the wheat field and enter the city to work, accompany them, or live for a long time.

The cicada sounds in the village are still so rosty, and the waves are higher than the waves, making people unclear whether they are dreaming. A harvester gallop in the wheat field. Every time a piece of land is cut, the wheat grains with full grains will be shipped out of the plot. In less than a few days, the wheat of the entire village will be harvested. This scene made the old -fashioned father shook his head for a while.

Cloth, cloth, and cut wheat! The cloth birds, as always, screamed in the deep night sky, the voice was long and hurried, as if my mother called my milk name over and over again. At this moment, I feel that I have become a wheat, growing in the depths of the widest and warmer land in my hometown ...

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