Prose poems (short stories) about growth

In summer, my mother took me to fetch water by the river. I am holding a small bucket, and my mother is carrying two buckets on one shoulder. Mother's action is very troublesome, and two buckets are put into the river at the same time. When mother pushes hard, the two buckets are filled with water at the same time. My mother went back and forth more than a dozen times easily, and I, who was often lazy, only picked half a bucket of water, tired of picking it, and slowly lay in the grass to rest. At this time, the grass on the river bank has grown wildly, dark green, full of vitality and magnificent colors. The sun rose to the top of the sky early, making people sweat. The river was still cold, so I took off my clothes and floated on the water. The cool river washed away my heat. I feel the heat is gone, and my whole body is cold from head to toe. At this point, I have learned to swim. After a while, I went to the bottom of the water and touched the cold and smooth stone; Chasing ducks for a while and making trouble everywhere for a while; After a while, I went after fish, trying to catch some and take credit for my mother, but I was no match for them. They had dived to the bottom of the water before my hand touched them.

Sometimes when my mother goes up the mountain to cut firewood, she will take me along the river bank to the place where birds and flowers are singing on the mountain. Mom tried to cut wood there, and I was responsible for putting the wood into the laundry basket. The upper reaches of the river pass through the heights of the mountains, where I often smell the flowers. Mother is trying to cut, and I often disappear at the end of her sight to find a place filled with flowers. After searching for more than half an hour, I finally saw the true colors of the flowers. Ah, there are flowers all over the mountain. Red, white, pink, yellow, purple, enchanting and warmly open, well-known and unknown wildflowers and weeds, in the romance of that summer time, let the world have aura, faint floral fragrance, fragrant and fragrant, and the floral fragrance is not intoxicating. Camellia blooms the most, one after another, one after another, one after another, one after another, one after another. It's amazing, gorgeous colors impact my vision. Camellia, with fresh petals, white, pink and red, looks from a distance. Under the breeze and surrounded by the shade, it seems that it is the queen of flowers, with a prominent position, but not high above, not arrogant and impetuous, and a simple and noble hidden deep. I think my mother is a white camellia, beautiful but not arrogant, self-respecting, noble and simple.