Holland is a country with water, flowers and pastures. On the green lowlands between canals, black and white cattle, black-headed cattle and black cattle with white waist and blue mouth are grazing. Some cows are covered with damp-proof blankets on their backs. Cattle eat grass and ruminate, sometimes standing still, as if thinking about something. The calf looks like a noble lady and has a dignified manner. The old cow, like the parents of the cattle, is very dignified. At first glance, it is surrounded by green velvet grasslands and black and white cattle. This is the real Holland.
This is the real Netherlands: turquoise lowlands are embedded among canals, and herds of horses are fierce and strong, with legs as thick as cylinders and manes fluttering in the wind. Nothing can stop them from flying to Utrecht or Zfler except canals covered with deep grass. The vast Yuan Ye seems to belong to them. They are the masters and dukes of this free kingdom.
There are white sheep on the lowlands, and they are carefree on the green grassland like a paradise. The black pigs kept snoring, as if to express their approval for something. There are thousands of chickens and long-haired goats, but none. This is the real Holland.
Only in the evening did I see someone coming by boat, sitting on a small bench and milking a serious and silent cow. The golden sunset lay in the western sky, with occasional whistle in the distance, and then silence. Here, no one shouts, and the bell hanging around the cow's neck doesn't ring, and the milkman is more silent.
In the canal, ships full of milk barrels run slowly and smoothly, and cars and trains carry cans of milk to the city. After the car passed, everything was calm again. The dog didn't bark, the cows in the pen didn't make the sound of Cleisthenes, and the horseshoe didn't kick the baffle of the stable. It's really quiet Sleeping livestock, silent lowlands, dark night, only a few lighthouses in the distance glow slightly.
This is the real Holland.