Whistling, whistling, the north wind is coming, and the footsteps of autumn have arrived.

Everything is like a lady who returns home at dusk, stripped of her beautiful jewelry. The mountains began to shed their green leaves, the streams were hidden, and the sun's face was no longer so red.

The grass is about to sleep, dry and yellow. Under the woods, by the river, and behold, there are large and large patches full of them. Rabbits, wild sheep, eat a few more bites here, hide from beasts there, race a few times, catch a few times and hide and seek. The wind is light and the grass is dry.

Persimmons, apples, grapes, you don't let me, I don't let you, they are all full of fruit and hurry. The brightness of the orange, the splendor of the red, the nobility of the purple. The wind smelled sweet, and when I closed my eyes, I was surrounded by a sea of fruits! Crowds of monkeys creaked in the trees, and thieves of all sizes ran around under the trees. Slimes are everywhere: miscellaneous, named, nameless, scattered in the grass like crystals, like balloons, and bouncing.

"Stop and sit in love with the maple forest at night", yes, the mountains and forests like his hometown made Charles stop his motorcycle. The wind was dyed bright red by the red leaves, mixed with a hint of stubborn green, and the aroma of various fruits brewed in the gradually drying air. The thieves set up their nests in the valley and became glad, and boasted of the fruits of their labors, and the chubby goats were in harmony with the baskets full of fruit. The whistle of the sentry on the top of the mountain was also sounding loudly at this time.

Bandits are the most common, two or three groups at once. Don't be annoyed. Look, the little minions, the big bosses, driving the sheep, hula la, running in the mountains, and the top of the mountain is covered with a thin layer of dust. The reflection of the sword is particularly bright, and the flag of the Maccaden family's sheep farm is flying to your eyes. In the evening, the meal was served, and a little bit of the aroma of the food set off a quiet and peaceful night. At the foot of the hillside, on the path, and by the wooden bridge, there were men walking briskly with whips and sheep with their sheep, and farmers who had cut grass and kept them to feed the sheep in winter, with swords and sickles. Their cottage no longer resembles a bandit's nest, with a sheep's cry in the wind.

The demand for wool is gradually increasing, and the number of sheep farmers is also increasing. Up and down the mountain, every family, old and young, also rushed to raise sheep one by one. Before the snow fell, they cut enough forage and let the sheep eat in the mountains, and each did his own thing. "Labor is the most glorious", at the beginning, some are labor, and some are hope.

The wool spinning is like a doll that has just landed, it is new from the head to the feet, and it grows.

Wool spinning like a little girl, flowery, smiling, walking.

Wool weavers like sturdy youths, with iron arms and waists, led the thieves to raise sheep and get rich.