Looking forward to autumn. The rice held back the youth of spring and summer and opened up.
Spit out the golden grains and raise them in the fall.
The villages they pass through come alive.
Bees quarrel among the flowers.
Maple leaves and peppers blushed.
The colorful butterflies dripped into the little **'s raised eyes.
The ladybug in the flower clothes licks the cowleg and the pumpkin is swollen and plump.
Corn grinned and made a ** sound.
The red pepper is full of luxury, and it hangs on the jasper branches.
A low-flying dragonfly twists and turns.
It's like a father and brother's thoughts at their fingertips.
A cloud got drunk and drifted into the blue sky.
It's like the autumn water flowing through the past, and the nostalgia is like smoke.
Autumn trouble. The farm tools that had rested for the summer woke up.
Roll over on the gable.
They twist the joints and tighten the bones.
Make a clicking sound.
Like my ambitious father and brother.
A golden look swept over Rice's ankles.
and sorghum neck, arriving in autumn.
The scythe of greed, the tart of hunger.
The flail that is about to move, the stone mill that is deflated in the stomach.
The saliva drips of the water mill, and the wind dustpan that shapes the bones and bones.
and screeching long scissors.
This batch of farm implements that take pleasure in torturing crops.
They all stood up and brushed their eyes red.
Look at the swaying autumn wind.
Lift the platter of earth ripened by the autumn wind.
This is the autumn harvest, a mobilization of farm tools.
Name each other, and pounce on the fruit of their own favorites.
Click and click to eat, let the plow for a long vacation.
Rake and hoe, dripping a little bit of salivation.
Kiss Autumn. A kiss of the sickle and the rice disturbs the autumn.
The fields are golden and show off mature love.
It is longer than the summer solstice and shorter than the white dew.
A cloud blushed and hid in the sky.
The sun spread its legs after a tiring day.
Rest on the ridge and roll a dry tobacco.
There are well-behaved dragonflies and naughty grasshoppers.
Drill in and out, stirring playful smoke rings.
A pigeon's whistle floated over to cover the sun's eyes.
The fields poured out for the passion of the sickle.
Those ears of grain with big bellies.
Standing out of the wind, they smiled playfully.
Taller than the frequent bowing of peasants.
The naughty buffalo mooed and lowered the plow.
The horns of the ox provoke the drunken hazy distant mountains.
Basking in the autumn. The most beautiful picture between the peaks and valleys comes from this high heaven and thick earth.
The sun drunk the colors and splashed the colors in the chest.
Smear the face of the countryside indiscriminately.
The most brilliant face in the crops.
Gather in the countryside in the crisp autumn weather.
The earth gathered its thick hands.
Hold on to the fruit and pick up the harvest.
Bring out a feast of red, orange, yellow and green.
Stepping on the fertile soil, shouldering the blue sky.
The autumn breeze stretched out his hand to relieve my chest.
I want to understand the mind of whole grains.
The sound of the pigeon's whistle pierces through the sky.
Beat the horse and whip in the clouds.
Harvest the richest fragments of life.
Tie them into bundles and hang them on a dazzling array of straw racks.
Pick the most colorful prosperity in the world.
Spread it out and bask in the thousands of purple and red rivers.
Autumn Festival. Some rituals are unforgettable.
For example, kneeling into a paddy field.
Raise the ears of rice with both hands.
It's like lifting up your own flesh and bones.
Awaken the spirits of your ancestors.
Autumn with colorful sounds.
Reward us with colour, taste, aroma and nutrients.
Pepper red, corn gold, grape purple, crispy plum green.
The pumpkin is fat, the chrysanthemum is light, the cotton is soft and white, and the rice is firm.
The splendor of flowers, the connotation of fruits, and the beauty of diamonds.
The roundness of the jewel to scramble for the posture.
Poured into the granary, surging with fiery thirst.
Let me stand against the wind, father and brother.
The tone began to be tough, and the heart became more stable.
And at this moment, I have auspicious clouds above my head, and my feet are stuck in the earth.
The news of Ren Linguo and Jiahe is blowing in my ears.
Nirvana from the rumors of a few wisps of cooking smoke.
Escape in the reflection of a drop of white dew.
Walk in Qianzhong and sit in a thousand miles of autumn colors.
and nagging melons and fruits.
Flirting with twittering food.
I dragged my feet in the mud and water.
Fall into this high countryside.
Text: Zhu Denglin.
Edited by Qiu Yi.
Second Instance Yao Man.
Third trial Huang Wei.