I always have a hard time forgetting the wheat-scented nights of my childhood! In autumn, the wheat is ripe! The parents' scythes fall, and the muscular wheat straw lies neatly, waiting for the harvest to crush! The robust horses mechanically circled the heavy stone stones, and the golden grains of wheat jumped out of the wheat husks happily, revealing their red faces! The wind is coming, to accompany this cheerful harvest scene! In the melodious music, the wooden shovel in the father's hand was gently raised, and the plump grains of wheat flew out of the grass shell, and the wheat grass also flew and fell gently. Piles of grain waited quietly in the wind to return to the warehouse, emitting a strong smell of wheat. At night, next to the pile of grain that had not yet been returned to the warehouse, my father and I slept in the wide carriage. The night was dark, the autumn chill in the Hexi Corridor was very strong, and there seemed to be no black cloud floating in the night sky. The stars are exceptionally bright, like shining elves. The earthen walls in the distance surrounded our wheat fields, and all I could do in my world was the black night sky and the bright stars. I lay next to my father, who was sitting in the carriage smoking a large smoking pot. The smoke in the smoke pot was stinging with Mars, and wisps of green smoke drifted in the night sky and filled my nose. I was wearing a thick sweater, the quilt covering my whole body, revealing only my head, and a pair of black eyes searching for the brightest star in the dark night. The busy father fell asleep in the smoke-filled comfort. My warm heart still found it difficult to sleep, and looking at the wheat stacks and the obtrusive earthen walls around me, I couldn't help but feel a little frightened, and gently leaned into my father's arms. Like frost, the moonlight sprinkled the earth, and the air was full of the fragrance of wheat grains. There seemed to be no wind in the wheat field, the air was a little damp, and the quilt on his body was a little wet. Rats on the ground ran around stealing my family's grain, and there were some small bugs crawling around on the grain pile and making the sound of sisi soo. My eyes widened but I did not dare to make a sound, and I leaned close to my father again, and the father in my sleep gently took me into his arms and then fell into a deep sleep.
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The smell of my father's tobacco in my nose gradually faded, and it was still filled with the smell of wheat grains, the warm air, taking a deep breath, and my mouth was full of fragrance. The night fills my soul, and I am like a twinkling star. My hair flowed slightly through the frosty white smoke, and a damp ethereal spirit rose in my eyelashes. I gazed with affectionate eyes at all the creatures in the night, next to me was my toiling father. The night was cold and lonely, but my nose was filled with a strong smell of wheat, and my body was flowing with deep fatherly love, and many years later I really remember those nights. The thickness of life gradually increased, and I also understood more that not all nights are lonely! On those wheat-scented nights, I was next to my father, accompanied by my father's snoring, and my eyes were wide open countless times looking up at the stars, and the spark of my ideal burst out on those nights! The white moonlight had stained my sideburns, my father's eyelashes and black hair, but I could not forget those nights. In those wheat-scented nights, I quietly listened to the heartbeat of the night, and the voice firmly told me that the night was not lonely, the night was not cold, and the night was not terrible! People must learn to look up at the starry sky, in the dark night there is always a star that belongs to themselves! On those wheat-scented nights, I truly felt the love of my father and more truly experienced the hardships of a farmer. My life became warm and broad on those countless nights, my body was filled with strength again and again, and my life became more mature as a result. Because, I always firmly believe that the night is also the station of life!
About author:Wang Deliang, a Chinese teacher at the Fifth Middle School in Yongchang County, Gansu Province, loves to read in his spare time, loves prose and prose poetry, and his works have been scattered in magazines such as Prose Poetry