The rice in my hometown is the same as the people in my hometown, I can't say beautiful words, and I can't express my determination, but I like humility in my heart.

Rice, from the beginning of grain soaking, has been close to the land all his life, never abandoned, and has always marched in a creeping attitude on the black land of his hometown, without being loud or ostentatious.

Under the planting, from a few inches of seedlings to a strong dry rice, from the dry rice to the ears of rice, from the ears of rice to the grains, all their lives stand in the field, no regrets, deep and difficult to migrate, no vines and branches, like to walk with the wind and rain, like to be accompanied by the sun and the moon, only the future in my heart, only know the responsibility of contributing to the fruit, only know the beauty of the light fragrance, but also know the expectations of the rice sowers.

The rice roots in my hometown are firm, not exaggerated, not delicate, and not ostentatious. From the moment it is planted in the soil, the rice is planted in one place, grows in one place, blindly upwards, and never escapes obliquely.

Rice always moves forward, silently, slowly stretching its roots into the depths of the earth, spreading and growing, like a net, until it is firmly rooted in the earth.

Rice is clear: only by one's own labor, only by one's own initiative and modesty, the land will accept itself, and treat oneself well, and finally let oneself become a strong seedling, a tall stem, a long-fruited tree, become a scenery of the vast land, and achieve a beautiful harvest on the earth.

The people in my hometown are punctual and trustworthy people, and so is rice. Mayday is a day of Langrun, a good day and a good mood.

The old family began to plough the field and sow seeds, and when they came to the field, the field was crowded with people. In a short time, the fields will be covered with dots of green, never delayed, and those green dots are like star teeth on the canopy, pleasing to the eye and pleasing to the eye.

Green is alive and has a tenacious will. Whether it is a night of rain and dew or a day of sunshine, a green and fluffy curtain will appear in the field, soft and flat.

The wind gently swept by, and the green became green waves, which floated in all directions, smelling of grass, and cordially told the croppers the news of growth.

As soon as the midsummer arrived, the green color quickly changed into a new outfit, and the water shone like moonlight, thinly covering the boundless rice fields and also covering the narrow ridges.

Squatting on the ridge of the green field, you don't need to pay your ears, you don't need to meditate, you can hear the crisp and pleasant long sound of rice, just like a woman with light makeup, wearing a green skirt, the sparse sound of the skirt mopping the floor, beautiful; As soon as the sunset comes out, the west is purple and red, and walking into the rice fields is like walking into a neon world, full of scenery.

In the middle, up and down, and between the branches of rice, grasshoppers are jumping, butterflies are dancing, and flying insects are buzzing, which is full of vitality.

The abundant rice fields, one after another, live like a handsome pregnant woman, and her face is full of festive joy.

The land in my hometown began to harden, there was no clear water at the bottom of the ditch, and the thick rice stem turned from green to green, from green to yellow, but the roots were still straight.

Yellow covered every part of the field, as if it were an instantaneous time. The ears of rice are full, strong, and heavy.

The dried rice is fearless, still supporting the weight of the ear, just like holding up a kind of hope, a kind of happiness, without the slightest sense of effort.

The ears of rice are all one plant, all golden, and all heavy. Countless ears of rice, like countless net wires, cast into a pale yellow net, neat, flat, thick, silently and evenly netting all the harvest in the field, netting all the hopes of the sowers.

Rice grows all its life, first giving people green enjoyment, pleasant and refreshing, and finally giving human beings food, food and clothing to the world.

Even if it becomes rice firewood, it is necessary to build a house and repair a house, and it is also a delicacy of pigs to become chaff, and it is also the nourishment of the field to become a pig dump, and there are not many people who dedicate their lives like rice.

But rice has never been demanding of people, this is the mind of rice, is the charm of the old family, but also the merit of the old family.

Facing the rice, looking at the grains and smelling the fragrance of the grains, I often think of the people in my hometown, and a person's life should be like a rice, and when the ears are full, they must bow their heads.

It's good to bow your head, and when you look down, you can see the fertile land under you; The land is so good, and with it I have me.