About the Author:
Feng Shuo, formerly known as Feng Shuo, is a creator in the field of literature and history. Loves literature, loves to write poetry and prose, and is a literature lover who insists on writing.
Where the sun rises, there are nearly a thousand acres of farmland left with wheat stubble, and the golden light is so bright that no one can see it. At this time, the wind was not warm at all, blowing on the face, hurting like a pinprick.
There is a simple cement road next to the canal on the side of the field, which has not changed in spring, summer, autumn and winter, carrying a car, a person. When I was a child in school, when I walked on this road, my only pleasure was to wink at the sun, because it would make me feel that I was practicing a pair of "fire eyes and golden eyes", able to see through the illusion like a monkey, able to shine with my eyes, and then wander in the long river of history.
As I grew up, this wheat field was not static, and I remember when it was bulldozed, and I remember when it was constructed and the pipes were tiled. And I don't care about its changes at all, because my home, just to the north of this farmland, because the sun will always hang over it. So it didn't take long for the pipes to be laid under the ground, the fields were refilled, and rice, corn, and wheat still grew.
Later, I was admitted to high school, returned to my hometown, and once again walked on this familiar path, but found that the road was no longer smooth, and there were many farms that had not been planted with grain. If that's all there is to it, I think it's just that people are busy and don't have time to plant. But when I saw that some people's doors were locked with locks, I realized that many people had left here.
And when I returned to the city and faced the rapid changes in the city, I felt that the development of society was like the sun, thriving, and more brilliant, more and more hopeful, because this was the place where the sun rose.