Such Great Home

When I was small, in each autumn, all the minutes and seconds are beautiful. When rice to gaze at the foot of the land, in the yellow staining in rice, rice has become our children's corner, it is sweeter than the candy dayManaged Security.

Like the earthworm can smell incense soil, fish smell incense to water, farmers smelled incense rice, we can smell of grass.

When they finished harvesting rice, the rice will be cut down and clusters. People tied straw, a simple scarecrow, and set the battle in array like, densely placed in the field, then left in the field until the sun a few sun, moisture evaporation about, people will find a cypress, a layer around the tree to form a heap of straw. The children are always labeled disobedient label, naughty and indeed is a child of nature. At that time we, always caught as typical, was at one time Veda Salon.

We often call all the children in the village, consisting of large forces, valiantly dash, like the army across the Yalu River, across the river in the village, walked to the river opposite the rice paddies. They took their old clothes, on the field with straw, one point one point conception Scarecrow body, posture, dress, we these little designer, another do with straw, to leave his mark on the scarecrow dressed in clothes, and then a straw bed, Mei Mei lying the bed, enjoy the product, enjoy the warm sunshine, trying hard to suck straw scent, and in that of straw, sleep, no worries. For example, you want to have a happy time also pay, rice straw, to play, to his face a scolding, of course, always little not a feather duster or broomwomen clothing online.

And now, the piles of straw is rare, machinery instead of manual, people began to use machinery to take their food, soon will be put into the rice grain cabinet their. While the straw was flat on the ground, dried, close together, a fire only ashes, after a wheat, can even a trace of traces of less than. And I don't want to complain to change what, I just think, some things in life, open never withered flower, resulting in its later days can whenever and wherever possible, gave us a scene, even in the memory, the landscape has been fuzzy time wheel grinding is not clear.

The straw I always have a special love. Whenever I see a text in the language examination or straw extracurricular books, the heart is always not be restrained ache, even the childhood joy and many years can still meet again in the text in the joy. Those words made my tears trickling down one's cheeks, because straw occupies half of the space of my childhood memory, loaded with all my love and warm heavy. Then lay on the straw sleep on straw we, also has a great difficult for people to understand the dependence and trust.

The reason for the straw love, a part from the scarecrow gave me a shock.

Should be eleven - two years old, is not big not small age. The farmer has just finished harvesting the rice, the sky turned dark occasion, will usher in a rare rainstorm days. The rain poured down, not slack, like a warrior, is bound to make people fear to give birth, only willing to give up, even the wind is also out for rain to cheer. Many trees fell, like the battlefield killed soldiers spread all across in confusion, lying on the ground. Some growth in the slopes of the tree as flood scouring, block intersections to slide down, a large, lifeless dark green, see people confused. After the night, the rain gradually smaller, second day afternoon, the sun was happy hanging in the sky, probably in the lucky rainstorm leave. The fields to have a look, the straw is still standing straight, despite the rain and wind blowing it be thrown into a panic, baggy clothes are attached to the body, but it is still brave to withstand the relentless wind and rain, no head, no fear. I was shocked, why many growth decades old trees were destroyed, but a little Scarecrow can survive.

Sometimes I really want to remember a layer peeling, have a look what it left. However, when I walk down memory compass error, it comprehends many once made me be very much puzzled by something. Like standing in the rice fields, after the storm is the survival of the scarecrow, finally to After rain the sky looks blue.

I miss, in addition to straw, what else is there? Childhood? Lost has been unable to restore, memory slowly whereabouts in the passage of time, I had to laugh it off. The grass, has filled the air I breathe, is not.