The wheat fields that gave their food for their lives are all over the mountain, with portions lying on different slopes. The hillside is inclined to the eaves and the back of the reaper, accompanying the growth of the years.. The flatness of the wheat field cut the original calm of the hillside, and the hillside is not calm. From then on, there has been the cultivation, sweat, pain and singing of life and life. From then on, there have been names called terraces and sickles. From then on, these names have been wiped bright and bright with sweat.. The fragmented and flat fields, running away, are like the city’s steps to the top of the tourist attraction – the orderly and orderly steps, like the electronic original manually arranged in a digital appliance, marked with symmetrical positions and numbers.. The terraces on the hillside will always be only the original shape of the hillside, one high and one low in the east and one short, one large and one small, one straight and one curved, randomly scattered and randomly arranged, without any grades or rules, without the arrangement of priority or priority or preference, no matter which square carved with green wheat and seedling grain is found, it is a meaningful poem of coarse ore..     One poem after another is strewn at random and folded into an entire valley, like a roll of rolling volumes, rich and ancient, clear and majestic..     The spring breeze, which has been slow to come, has started the singing of the drop of blood of azalea birds in the wheat fields, as well as many modest struggles and breaths. Stubborn wheat seedlings have overcome the depression of the earth’s remaining cold, trying to lean out their sharp heads and thin bodies and began to listen to the restlessness of Chun Qing, where nature has just woken up.. Pieces of wheat fields with rough mining lines and snake-like hidden paths take up the strings of Shan Ye’s clever strings, the diligent chirping of insects, the wild eagles flying in the sky and the low clouds blooming like mushrooms, jumping up the cheerful and relaxing notes of this spring. The spring breeze dances waving flourishing fingers, poking at the low chirping of insects, the singing of birds, the sadness of clouds, the inspection of eagles, and the loneliness of Shan Ye. Dandelion carefully opened the small yellow umbrella and watched the life-and-death roaring war launched by the ant brigade and earthworms on the road. Shandan slowly revealed crimson petals, luring passing butterflies to stop their journey and reluctant to open their beautiful wings.. The mountain was silent, and a spring of Wang Qing gurgled with the coolness of Shan Ye on the north side of the mountain rock. Only beautiful people called musicians are worthy of this natural nectar.. The beautiful and pure musicians enjoy the music tirelessly, with thick and fierce mountains and ignorant seasons..     The music of spring has not been finished yet, and the wheat ears that started from the jointing stage have inadvertently broken the balance of seasons. The jade finger of the wind came to an abrupt end. Summer’s footsteps couldn’t help stepping onto the stage of performance. That’s a young man from the mountain. He is strong, young and solid.. As soon as he stepped on the stage, he turned Pingpingtan into a drab wheat field like the feathers of immature nestlings, giving birth to a strong seed like the black hair of a young girl, full of green mountains, full of green mountains, with the wind coming again, with the undulating melody twisting from the hillside, a melody full of the smell of wheat maturing and clearing away moisture, rolling over a chapter of love and throbbing waves, beginning to flow, flow and flow in the depths of the hillside.!     Season’s maturity makes wheat fields more mature. Mature wheat fields bid farewell to the dryness in early spring and the greenness and wetness in early summer, and are greeted by the pain of alternating hot wind and cool wind. As a result, the sun has infected the skin of wheat fields with gold, first bit by bit, then piece by piece, and then it is a large area, from head to foot, full of mountains and hills, vigorous and rapid. In a twinkling of an eye, the mountains have been dyed with countless golden lines of poetry, and the hillsides can no longer hold hot, and gold pours down, flowing, flowing and forming along the hillsides.! Medina, where did you hide it? You don’t belong to you anymore, you have been melted by seasons and lights!     Cut wheat! On June 6th, busy and busy, whose embroidered daughter got out of bed. The path is curved, like thin acacia lines, holding those tiny steps all the way to the wheat fields that have been kissed by the fierce sun.. A small field of terraced fields that can no longer be small, one square at a time. Hot 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 are covered in copper-colored persistence. In the refinement of sickles and sweat, there is no reason to succumb to them.. A small piece of wheat, slowly revealing bare wheat awns, – – those sharp as the needle point, pierced through the childhood of many young girls and boys. Time seems to be getting fast, the time of wheat field is changed as soon as it turns around. The wheat field behind it leaves a large blank of only wheat awn, like the youth without any harvest, glistening with eyes and causing pain.! Pieces of wheat sown by the sun gradually became empty in the cheers of sickle chirping and groans of sweat hitting the soil, with more and more wheat awns and more empty awns, which could not keep out the season, just like holding inexpensive arms could not keep out the perishable youth.. Such as the scorching sun of fire, sa Huan ran on the wheat field, picked up the ears of wheat dripping and watched the footprints of the last one removed from the wheat field.. Wheat is a blank, the whole valley is a blank, in the heart of the sun’s aloof, what does wheat awn count for? However, it is a remnant gun broken arrow left behind after the sword and sword shadow in ancient battlefield, but it is an old scar left behind in 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 the years and add some nutrients to the harvest in the coming year.!     The heavy wheat fields bid farewell to the busiest day of the year and look forward to the birth of the next cycle. Like a teenager saying goodbye to the most precious youth in his life – the youth of a teenager has no reincarnation. If you don’t, don’t. Leave hope for the next time. When you’re lonely, choosing hope is also a kind of wisdom.. The pain is related to the season and sings a song of continuous rain, cooling down for the sadness in the bone marrow.. Rain is water, the cycle of water, water is the source of life, the cycle of life, wheat bears the moisture of life and the weight of life.. Looking forward to the next rebirth in the cool and refreshing night rain!