In your daily study, work or life, everyone has come into contact with prose, right? Prose in a broad sense refers to an article genre that does not pursue rhyme and neat sentence structure, as opposed to verse and parallel prose. I believe many people find it difficult to write prose, right? The following is a collection of classic essays on rural scenery that I have collected for you. I hope it can help you. Classic Prose on Rural Scenery 1
(1)
The bean sprouts and wheat seedlings in the fields are gently swaying in the diagonal breeze, and the reclusive crickets are singing in low voices with their talented voices, Let the rock music saxophone that is popular in the city feel ashamed.
The clear moonlight was brought into the evening cooking fire by a bundle of dry wheat straw.
For parents who have lived in the countryside all their lives, a random rural allusion is enough to eclipse the dim lights of the city.
Go back to the countryside and get close to simplicity.
The whole night of country talk was filled with a cup of strong tea, slowly filled again and again.
Sweet on the face, drunk in the heart.
(2)
The sharp ears of wheat imitate the sunshine in the hearts of farmers.
The passionate pomegranate exudes aggressive charm. Three or two blushes spread across the faces of the girls, making you reluctant to let them go and unable to take them away, leaving you filled with the melancholy of being constantly sorted out and confused.
Autumn fairy tales sleep peacefully in the embryos that have been buried in the ground.
The girls planting rice seedlings fluttered on their dexterous fingertips, and the mirror-like paddy fields reflected their simple joy and little expectations.
Walking barefoot across the fields, I picked up the whispering of a swallow under an early-blooming osmanthus tree.
(3)
Who made my heart filled with tears again?
The sound of cicadas spread everywhere, awakening the love between my children deeply buried in the books. long.
Under the dense shade of the old sycamore trees, the country singer was playing the dusty erhu again.
Walking through the dusty road, from afar, I could see the ever-changing smoke hanging on the roof of my hometown.
Sitting alone in the old house.
A warm soybean oil lamp rested on the poem manuscripts I spread out in order, keeping me awake all night.
My thoughts are integrated with the infinitely peaceful village under the night.
(4)
When spring comes, I return to the countryside where I have lived for more than 20 years.
I know that when you cross the small river, you can see herds of cattle and sheep growing quietly along the direction of the grass, and you can see the wooden houses in your hometown springing up...
Stop During this period, I found that every plot of life is so real.
When the peach blossoms are just blooming, the pear trees are spitting out silver, and the rapeseed flowers are spreading a yellow velvet carpet, I stand on the rural landscape, adjust the focus, and take a close-up of the glorious moment.
Yes, I know that whether I look up or down, the spring in my rural hometown is a pure, beautiful and profound artistic conception.
Standing in the countryside reminds me of a detached style and a peaceful meaning.
(5)
The lotus pond in the countryside, the green leaves in the fields, the flower cups are scorching, and the fragrance floats out from the ancient music of Yuefu, seeping into the dream of Jiangnan, and casually blending into the beauty and purity of the small village. style.
In the bright spring water, the pointed lotus looks like the warm and shy look back at the village girl, evoking frogs croaking as warmly as the sun, purple swallows passing by, and cattle walking calmly towards the fields.
The lotus leaves perfectly open the summer and the love of the sun.
In my hometown with lots of water, a lotus seed, even if it has been sleeping for a thousand years, can express the beauty of life in the pond, often awakening the ark of my nostalgia.
(6)
By following the grain of a grain of grain, we can reach the heart of the village. The days in the countryside turn into the land, pure and simple together with the sunshine. In the depths of agriculture, we use a hoe to easily penetrate the thoughts of wheat ears.
A bluestone path is a major artery in the countryside. The classic cars driving away, carrying the blessings of the countryside, hide their whereabouts in the dust in the sky.
When we live in the countryside, our blood is filled with strength, and tireless souls grow in the silent land.
When I slide through the eyelashes of the city, I return to my hometown that makes me excited and proud in the form of a seed.
(7)
The country swallows fly back and forth, flying back and forth, as if they have formed an incomprehensible relationship with the farmers. No matter how far they fly, they still remember the familiar door lintel. .
In the past years, the nest built with mud in the mouth is still there.
The murmur on the beam is the best annotation for the peace and tranquility of life.
The farmers take good care of them carefully and add a bit of pride to the dancing swallows.
When I stop in the countryside and think about the magnificent buildings in the city, I always feel a little lost and a little ashamed...
(8)
An old farmer squatted in the field and smoked. From the smoke pot, a mountain village rose up like a tree.
In the silent place, the cattle ruminate on the hardships like their masters, staring blankly at the long and distant road. The plow behind him is like a bow, shooting into the hardened soil, winning the joy of germination and making the farming season exciting.
Looking at the words written on the ditches in the seasons, they gradually mature into the hope of nourishing a nation.
Facing the scene of the old farmer and the old cow looking at each other, I suddenly realized: It turns out that the history of farmers has been smoked yellow by the smoke pot of time.
(9)
Corn is a graceful and elegant crop in the countryside. The season when corn sprouts its tassels brings joy to the children of a village, who laugh and stroke its purple-red and snow-white leaves. , light yellow tassels, that is the fresh and tender beard of corn, and the wisps of corn beard are flying, and all the children in the village have become little old people.
Corn is the totem of my hometown and the Santa Claus of the children in my lonely hometown.
Corn has Buddha nature. A corn is a Buddha. A bright smile of corn reveals the holy teeth of the Buddha.
In fact, all food is the Buddha that saves all sentient beings.
(10)
A village, hidden in the countryside surrounded by green trees, has beautiful orchards and wheat fields, rapeseed flowers and purple clouds are in bloom, and the grass is stained with yellow soil. Dirt roads appear on the countryside trails.
A man was walking alone, surrounded by lush green peach branches. He held his head high and hoeed, and the field ridges without wild flowers were written on his relaxed face.
The streets and alleys moved in the shadow of the trees, and the birds flew up from the apricot trees and landed on the jujube trees. They flew back and forth and cried loudly, knocking the yellow-yellow May. The wind is tinkling.
The village is very quiet. Occasionally, a hen's cluck or two can be heard coming from a certain courtyard across the fence, and along with the thick birdsong, it becomes a kind of chorus. Classic Prose about Rural Scenery 2
In the dead of night, looking at the golden full moon in the sky, I fell into deep memories, which spanned thousands of miles and the long sky.
My countryside! Can you still remember me from afar? Do you know that I miss you deeply and long to return to you, even if I am just one of your fallen leaves in autumn? Now the golden leaves are flying everywhere, blowing the cold breeze. Autumn wind, how warm I am with you in my heart!
Every time I meet you, I always need to change trains, cars, plains, or mountains to get to you and see your face. But no matter how tired I am, bursts of smiles always appear on my face. Looking at the quaint scenery and familiar people in my hometown, I feel the warmth that melts in my blood.
I can’t forget the mark you carved in my heart, and I can’t forget the traces you poured into my blood. Today's autumn wind blows me so sad, and your shadow is fully written in my heart.
On the muddy path on a rainy day, the grass on the side of the road is growing vigorously, green one after another, laughing and singing in the rain. The sky cleared up, and the sun showed its long-lost smile. Wisps of light shone on the rugged path. I stood on tiptoes and looked into the distance. One mountain after another stretched into the distance, interlocking with each other; a beautiful river was as curved as a snake. It flows slowly around you in twists and turns, where is it going? I don't know how long it is? I don’t even know. I only know that it is waiting for you quietly. It has nurtured me and my parents.
In spring, the cry of swallows wakes up everything in the mountain village. The swallows cross over a large green wheat field, climb over the neat mud fields that have not yet been planted with vegetables, and fly under the eaves of thousands of households. , began to build his own beautiful house. In the small ditch on the dirt road, there are often the figures of swallows holding sticks and mud. If there is an afterlife, I would rather be a swallow in my hometown, with my tail clipped on the hillside. A piece of green hills was cut out. The cute goat began to eat the fresh and tender grass, which was always white. From a distance, it looked like white clouds.
In March of spring, the peach trees in my hometown add a bit of joy to the hillside, with a touch of pink, as if the hillside is drunk and reveals its gentle side, with colorful butterflies and shouting bees. A regular visitor to Peach Tree. Before long, the rapeseed was not stingy with its golden color, dyeing the entire hillside piece by piece. I was so fascinated and confused when I looked at it. I stood on the roof of my home and looked at it. I took a deep breath and saw the richness of the rapeseed flowers. The smell seemed to penetrate my insides.
In May, the golden wheat rolls like waves in the fields. When the wind blows, you can hear the cries of the ripening wheat, calling for the waving of the sickles of the fathers, who in those days As if he was in a race against time, sweat rolled down his head, face, and arms like rain, spreading across the sky and slowly evaporating. The threshing machine in the wheat factory made a roaring sound, like the powerful cry of life.
In summer, the quick rain showers become the protagonist of the season. A rain washes the hillsides clear, makes the rivers surge, and washes away the fiery heat. In the hot summer, the cicadas on the sycamore trees kept chirping, and the cattail fans in the house kept shaking. A shout from my friend called me to the side of the river. The water plants in the river were very luxuriant, and the water plants under the water were luxuriant. All kinds of fish and shrimps of all sizes are clearly visible like looking in a mirror. We jumped into the water one by one like little ducks, swimming breaststroke and backstroke in the water, swimming out of the water and making ripples.
The pattering autumn rain in autumn often writes many thoughts in my heart. Walking on the muddy field path, the red sorghum heads have long been cut off, leaving only the tall trunk looking in the distance. In all directions, rows of corn stretch far away, and the sight is blocked by corn stalks, making it impossible to see the end. Beside the small river, the leaves of the poplar trees were falling. Some fell to the ground, and some fell to the river. They floated along the water to an invisible distance. The scenery along the way must have been beautiful.
When the autumn wind has finished blowing the autumn rain and countless autumn thoughts, winter will slowly come with its own steps, but the winter wind is like a knife, like a sharp sword, cutting through across everyone's face. In winter, the white snow often brings a different flavor to small villages. The snow in the village either does not fall; In the room, parents and elders are chatting, reminiscing about the past years, and planning for a good harvest next year.
The autumn wind is still blowing, blowing the images of the countryside thousands of miles away into my mind one after another. I can't get rid of them or erase them. I just want to shout loudly: I love you, my quaint countryside, the children you nurture will never forget you!
You have melted into our bones and flowed into our blood. We love you! The original scenery of my countryside! Classic Prose about Rural Scenery 3
In the countryside, farmers are familiar with the saying that dung is a treasure of crops, without which crops will not grow well; every crop flower depends entirely on dung. This is about farmyard manure. Before the 1980s, every rural household did not have a dung pit. There was a dung pile next to the toilet in the courtyard of each household. If it was not there, people would laugh at it. This family is not Farmers living their daily lives.
In fact, the crops growing in the fields and hillsides, and the rice seedlings in the watery rice fields, are all as if they are their own children. If the crops are not grown well and do not have enough necessary nutrients, they will not be able to grow into full-grained grains in autumn, and the green rice in summer will turn into golden rice. As the saying goes, people mix crops for a while, and crops mix people for a year.
When I was young, I often went to my grandma’s house every winter and summer vacation to spend time with my lonely grandparents. Not far from grandma's house is the production team headquarters. What impressed me most was that there was a large puddle outside the team headquarters yard that was more than 50 meters long and 20 meters wide. Out of curiosity, I often watched the commune members cut green thorns from the mountains. The young branches and leaves that had grown in the past were thrown into the puddles like bundles of thorns. The commune members ignored the poisonous and hot sun, and their faces were deeply tanned. Sweat was flowing on their faces, and the sweat stains on their faces flowed down to their necks. Sometimes they felt very uncomfortable, and they used their big hands with thick calluses to After wiping it on, he picked up a bundle of wattle sticks and threw them into the water. Some of them were older, and most of them were young men. The older girls also worked with the younger ones, no less. It's just that the clothes he wears are a little flowery and pink, and his face is made up of sweat just like the young man's.
I asked out of curiosity what the adults were doing? Only then did I realize that the commune members called this pressing green manure. At that time, I didn’t understand the meaning of this word, which is retting fertilizer. Pressed green manure is a local name. There is also a process of pressing green manure. Put the cut wattle and other highland barley in the puddle. When it is full, fill it with water. When the water sinks, add water, then press a layer of soil on top, and then put a layer of wattle. Then press it up, fill the pit, and cover it with soil. After a few months, maybe a whole summer, the wattle and other highland barley may be soaked, and when it comes out, it will be the best farmyard manure.
At that time, perhaps there were very few chemical fertilizers produced by industry, or perhaps modern agriculture had not developed to a certain extent. All was collective farming by production teams, and accumulating farmyard manure became an important and arduous task for the production teams. The production team has accumulated farmyard manure throughout the summer and autumn, forming a mountain-like pile. Every time at this time, the production team leader would step on the manure pile and say with a bulging belly that as long as the rains are good next year, there is no doubt that the crops will be bumper.
After the implementation of the household contract responsibility system in rural areas of our country, farmers began to enjoy this modernization under the influence of modern agricultural planting ideas, and few people bothered to make farmyard fertilizer. Take the money to the supply and marketing cooperative or agricultural product sales point, and high-quality fertilizer will be shipped to your home. When sowing seeds in spring with small farm machinery, the fertilizer like pearls is gently sprinkled into the newly plowed black furrows that exude the fragrance of earth, which is time-saving and elegant. It can be said that farmers are really happy to have access to modernization.
Applying farmyard manure and making manure requires a lot of manpower and is time-consuming. It may take half a year or a year to get time for spring sowing in the new year. Even if people are not afraid of being tired and have no complaints, they still have to bear the pressure of carrying heavy loads silently. When enough manure is accumulated, transporting it is also a lot of labor.
In the 1990s, horse-drawn carriages were basically used to transport fertilizer. It's fine on flat land, but in mountainous areas, transporting fertilizer is a sight to behold. Anyone who sees the scene of transporting fertilizer will never forget it.
One winter I went to my grandpa’s house and watched my uncle and other members transport manure. Because it is a hilly area, of course, carriages cannot go up the mountain. The members used specially sewn long bags that looked like canvas, about 2 meters long and 30 centimeters in diameter. They used donkeys and mules to transport them up the mountain. The members hunched their waists, Leading the donkey by hand was like a militiaman transporting mines in a mine war, so it left a deep impression on me.
In the Lujia production team where I went to the countryside, the accumulation of manure had another characteristic. The production team accumulated manure by raising pigs and cattle. In the summer, the pig and cow pens are always filled with new soil, and the pig and cow feces and urine are soaked together. With the addition of rainwater and the trampling of cows, the soil is naturally stirred. One or two months later, the production team leader did not know when or which production team leader came up with the idea. When the time came, dozens of circles were raised, and the team leader called the male members together, like a house auction. . He said that the first circle in the east was worth 20 work points, and the second circle was larger, 30 centimeters. The members saw the value or thought it was good, so they rushed to answer the call and took the job. Sometimes the number of days is calculated according to each pen. In the west pig pen, one job (one day's work) is taken. If you take the job and finish it in 2 hours, you can sleep at home for most of the remaining day. It's like the piece-rate wage system in a factory.
After the feces is picked up, it has to be transported together. There is also a process of luck. The members use soil baskets to pick the dung together and slowly build up a hill-like pile of dung in the yard. Later, it took a lot of effort to carry dung up the hill-like dung pile and up the slope. In winter, the soaked dung must be dug out with a pickaxe and then transported to the fields by horse-drawn carriage.
In those years, every family in the countryside was the same. As long as there is private land, or land in front of and behind the house, they will raise pigs, make pig manure, and soak the manure in their own toilets. Only when the manure is gone can the manure be poured out and put into the ground, so that the crops will not be burned to death. Otherwise, maggots will grow on the ground, or the seedlings will be burned to death.
Farmers know that the fertile farmland is passed down from generation to generation. This will maintain the nutrition of the land, make the land fertile, and make the land healthy. If chemical fertilizers are used instead of farmyard manure, if this happens for a long time, the land will have less nutrients, the soil will be clean, and no crops will grow well. Although compound fertilizers are now available, which are better than chemical fertilizers, they are still not comparable to farmyard fertilizers.
With the advancement of modern agricultural production technology, land has been transformed from traditional handicraft operations to mechanized farming. Scientific farming and scientific fertilization have led to breakthroughs in grain production year by year, and there are more and more varieties of grain.
But I still can’t forget the earthy aroma of black farmyard manure. The grain produced by applying farmyard manure has delicious meat and a strong aroma. It is a pure green product and there is no residue of chemical fertilizers in the grain. Long-term use of farmyard manure is more conducive to improving soil quality. Farmyard manure enriches the soil, so that the crops grown on the land are resistant to drought, pests and diseases, and have strong growth potential.
Every time I eat such pure green products, there is a lingering fragrance in my mouth.
Nowadays, I don’t know when the simple and beautiful scenery of the countryside will appear again.