Since working outside the home, I have never returned to my hometown in the summer and autumn. I miss the idyllic scenery of summer and autumn, crawling on the hedge wall of beans, lying in the ditch purple eggplant, folding a sunflower leaf on the head to block the sun. Basket after basket of cucumbers is poured on the kang. Autumn came, the bud rice whiskers dried, and the bud rice stick was like wearing a hat. The sand fruits on the trees were as red as if they were bustling, and the branches stretched out of the wall, and those who passed by could not help but pick one and taste the sweetness and sourness of the fruit. Ducks and geese swim unhurriedly in the creek on the edge of the rice paddies, and the bowls of flowers on both sides of the road occasionally smell good. And then there are the frogs and the endless fields. Everything was fascinating.
