It seems that when I was a child, I couldn't finish talking about it.

In the barren land, generations of people have been raised, and I have been confirmed one by one along with the land in this history.

Coming from the countryside, he can chop wood to cook rice, go down to the river to fish, bathe naked in the hot sun, and bake his head in the cold winter.

In the absence of extra money to buy toys, there is naturally more creativity, because toys are always made by others to limit the child's ideas.

When there is nothing else to play with, a pinch of loess, the water that can be taken everywhere, kneaded together, as if in the noodles, of course, the things made are wanton, can be east or west, can be south or north, there is no origin, there is nowhere to go.

Once, following the appearance of the picture book, I pinched out a few roosters with mud, and under the unanimous praise of my friends, I gave them all away, it was not fun, because it had been restricted to death, and it was like that, with one more feather, it would look discordant.

If I forget about it and pinch a rooster by myself, I think it may not be so similar, but they have their own tastes, for example, if I pinch three beams for the cockscomb, it means that the rooster can duel with three other roosters at the same time, or it has three lives and can be resurrected three times, I can also pinch out the feathers from the chicken's neck to represent that the rooster is dueling, or I can grab four buckles and peck the ground with my head down, or I can look up to the sky and crow, otherwise, pinch a hen for it to be a companion.

Everything is limited by one painting.

"One Day at a Time" The days of playing with mud are being hit by hand, please wait a moment,

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