The clanging sound
Author: Liu Wentao
Autumn is getting stronger, and the fields where the crops are harvested are lost as if they are robbed. The wind licked the remnants of the mess on the river beach and wandered around. After eating enough, he playfully rolled, rolled up dead branches and threw them into the middle of the river, rowed a leisurely boat; twisted his waist, whipped dead leaves, and danced like a top, like a funnel; flirted with people, lifted his clothes and hair, and shamelessly smeared dust and dust on my face.
The wind whistles, the swallow scissors fly south, the geese fly north, if you hear the sound of ding-dong, the sound full of charm, such as Tang poems and Song poetry.
The farming culture on the Guanzhong Road, every peasant child, has heard and witnessed it from an early age, and his soul has been cultivated. At an early age, he memorized the tricks of shaking: the foot pedal Huji, the hand wrench, and the eyes looked at the ground thickly.
The male eldest established his father's aspirations and began to practice farming at the age of eleven or twelve. The land of the new plough is like the back of a toad, and it must be raked and flattened, and the upper and lower levels are solid. The wheat seeds planted are all seedlings strong, and they do not leak the wind and do not hang the roots. Wheat is planting, autumn is in management, and the work of preparing the land does not dare to be sloppy at all. The rake was too dangerous, and when there was a stuffy rake in the village, his foot stepped on the front stall of the rake, and the rake was pulled over and smashed on his body. First learn to be humble, throw up the whip and roar: the ----, the rounded ends drew an arc in the air, a loud sound, which startled the sheep floating in the sky. The old cow was not in a hurry, but only turned his ears slightly and walked up. It pulled on the whip, I stood on the tip and dragged its tail, shuttled through the field, just confused wo, wo--- yu, yu --- whether to turn right or to turn, shouting together, the old cow did not listen to the command, scurrying together. The ground is like a dog has chewed on it.
The sun is setting, and the lazy man is happier than the donkey. As soon as I heard the next blow, the cow's mouth was unloaded, and the cow was as happy as I was. Grandpa just inserted the plough into the plow holder, I was impatient to palm the plow, when I entered the village, I was the most proud, "the crushing will also plow the ground", hearing the sound of praise, the wonderful world is just like this. Many years later, in the lonely night, I always asked the cowherd on the side of the milky way, you stole my old cow, why not return it?
There are eighty-three rains in the wheat harvest, seedling rain in August of the lunar calendar, rain in the soil in October, and rain in March. The rain in March is the most critical, the wheat is the March grass, and january grows.
My grandfather said a word: Baby, I see that your birth is the life of the cow after beating the cow. Green wheat seedlings are fragrant, and I am still stubbornly waiting in the wheat field. The geese from the north eat wheat green, and they can't hear the sound of grandpa chasing geese, nor can they see the partners who collect goose dung to feed pigs.
In the long winter, most of the people on Guanzhong Road nest in winter. The greatest happiness in life: a cow in thirty acres of land, a hot kang head for a wife doll. In the morning fog, my grandfather always got up early and carried the cage to collect the dung. The pile of dung at the door grew bigger day by day. There is such a joke that is not a joke: my distant grandmother just returned to her mother's house after her new marriage, and on the road I saw a lot of cow dung, there was no suitable stuff, I took off the infrared sleeve and wrapped the dung. Crops and flowers, all rely on dung to take care of. My grandmother, who is a flower, has really made this family, and the younger generations have multiplied their talents.
Skip school with your partner in winter, touch a few red amaranths at home, and go to the wheat field outside the embankment to barbecue. Burn a pile of hard firewood and circle the red amaranth. After nibbling on the sweet face of the red amaranth, the face of my partner is like Jingde, and my face is like an old dove, and I smile relatively. The pig laughs at the old bird black, and the old bird laughs at the pig without color.
When it's harvest season, honey-colored joy soaks the wheat fields. I pretended to learn to rub the ears of wheat with my grandfather and said it was still a little soft. My grandfather trained: "You know a fart beard, half green, half yellow, cut just right", maybe it was huashan red and bima no. 1 wheat love spike at that time.
I love golden wheat stalks, weaving a pagoda-shaped grasshopper cage, catching a few grasshoppers in the dog's tail grass and feeding them with stolen pumpkin flowers. Obsessed to school, the teacher's lecture sound is a grasshopper sound, and the chirping is haunting. For this, there is no less than the teacher to clean up.
The moon was still moving through the white lotus-like clouds, but I was lost in utilitarianism, unable to find the high valleys. Mom's ears are dazzled, and the ending of the story is mostly forked and echoed. I am a hidden partner in the wheat straw alley, I don't know if I have lost my childlike heart, or if you are old and beautiful, always seeing instead of seeing.
Whoever hears the clanging sound, please share with me, the reverberating charm, people rejuvenate.
Author: Liu Wentao, Huazhou District, Liuzhi Town, North Liu Three Groups. Text lovers.
Editor: Huazhou Literature and History