Waiting for you, waiting for you in the literary space, bringing wonderful words. The topic is not limited, but poetry, prose, prose, novel and story can be used.
? Please contribute with the title of "Hundred Literary Spaces". The deadline is: 201811010 (Saturday). Be there or be square ?
? Editor in charge of this issue: primitive life
Thank you to all the teachers and literary friends who contributed this issue: (in no particular order, in order of submission time) Primitive Life, June Weather, Fuxizi, Moon Red, Ming Shuai Zhi, Shi, Qingfeng xw 19762003, Childish Heart 8c86, Zen Heart, Sunset 1, Love. I sincerely thank the babies for their excellent work and wonderful dedication! In this charming autumn, I have gained a lot of joy. The literary and artistic space is full of flowers, fragrant and beautiful, and will never be defeated.
Poetry and lyrics
First, harvest
Text/primitive life
I hear heaven singing.
Through the cloud keyboard
Put the colorful spectrum
Fly in the land of hope
I see dancing in autumn.
Dancing on the wind
Put the full ears of wheat
Dazzling in the golden fields
I smell a bumper harvest.
Smoke from the kitchen filled the whole village.
Laugh happily.
Facing a country girl who was drunk.
I want to fly to the sky like a cuckoo.
Spread labor poems throughout Yuan Ye.
Folks, please let me recite for you day and night.
Cutting wheat and grain? Cut wheat and grass
Second, Xijiangyue. plum blossom
Text/weather in June
Jinsui nodded and smiled, and the breeze danced deeply.
Xia Hui stroked the wheat and caught the waves. Waving microwave wine.
Wearing it in the countryside, the birds are singing gracefully.
Kiss in red and get drunk. The sun is shining and beautiful.
(Linz Zheng Yun Liu Yongti)
Third, you were there.
Text/Fu Xizi
1
My girl
Your clear eyes
Is it the same after too many years?
2
Your footprints are on the ground under your feet.
Grass on the ground
It's your invisible tie.
three
How could you forget?
How does the sparrow yearn for it?
But your smiling face
Has disappeared into the dream.
four
Aiba
Aiba
Not afraid of Yaner's ridicule
Even for a moment.
five
Weeds look ahead.
my friend
Will you turn happiness into sadness?
Fourth, Xia Zhiyan.
Wen/Ming Shuai's idea
Time has passed.
It's another summer
The shy expression of the sun
Hazy and beautiful land.
The flow of golden ears of wheat
Delicate and picturesque village girl
Decorate this summer harvest season
Red smiling face
With a happy smile.
The joy of harvest
Like a red skirt.
Liang Liao Li secai
Stunning all summer
A prosperous day
The season of passion
Rolling wheat waves
All reflect the smell of summer harvest.
Crazy, only the beauty of summer.
People are beautiful and beautiful.
One thought, one feeling and one beauty.
Xia Zhiyan, the picture is full of wind and heart.
Verb (abbreviation of verb) 20 18 years of love
Text/Dong Yan
1May 965
The harvest festival began to spread.
Farm small courtyard
Swing under the buttonwood tree
Children in coarse clothes
Play around the straw in small groups.
The windmill keeps turning.
It seems that his face is full of happiness.
At this time, laughter began to spread.
From one field to another.
It's all your cherished smiles.
Keep your head down-
This is your floral red coat.
It's your sandman.
You are full of harvest.
Look up-
It's your ponytail.
And slightly red cheeks.
I know you are the most beautiful at this moment.
I know, it's only 1965.
I know I love her more than you do.
In today's 20 18 years,
Six, the woman in the wheat field
Text/stone
Golden ears of wheat
Spread out in the wheat field in May.
Full spike
Enrichment and your smile.
The woman in the wheat field
Your youth is full of wheat ears.
The sun shines and the years are like gold.
Your ears of wheat are ripe.
Your laughter is sunny
You and your wheat field
Standing in May
May is the May watered by sweat.
Your eyes look at the wheat fields and the distance.
Look at the yellow land.
Grow golden hope
Seven, harvest.
Text/the moon is bright red
The wind caressed the golden wheat waves,
I roam freely in the joy of harvest,
In the thick fruit,
Looking for traces of life.
My face is permeated with a happy smile.
The maturity of this field,
Let my feelings bloom.
Holding the warm sunshine in his hand,
Let beauty live in the years of ink painting,
It is the best interpretation of happiness.
I want to make one myself,
Happy woman,
Harvest the fruit,
Harvest the beauty of life,
Harvest the joy of life,
Harvest mature charm.
Come on, let's do it together,
In order to harvest the fruit,
To harvest the maturity of life.
Eight, memory
Text/childlike innocence 8c86
We agreed to meet in autumn.
I will wait for you in the golden wheat wave
The heartbeat hugs in the wind.
You have fascinated my teenager.
Your words used to make me cry.
All my memories are your beauty.
I can't forget where I used to be.
Fly away in the sunset.
Memories left in the wheat waves
Nine, Na Yue that year.
Text/cloud water Zen heart ancient love
Years have taken away youth, looks and love.
Only left
This photo is a ticket to memory.
except that
That year, men in Na Yue were drowned in the impetuous and noisy torrent.
Where can I find a ferry that can return?
Miss the pen with tears.
With some loneliness and trance.
Erase the pale sigh that is not a word.
At that time, the sky was far away and the clouds were leisurely.
The young sun will be full of enthusiasm.
Shining on the vibrant land without any cover.
The river outside the village is sparkling.
Singing happy songs day and night.
Poplars and weeping willows on both sides of the river sway with the rhythm of the season.
From bare soil to green wheat seedlings to golden wheat waves
Sunrise and sunset, breathing with sweat.
With the painstaking efforts and lives of generations.
How many hardships have you experienced?
There is a lot of joy of harvest and yearning for happiness.
I don't know when.
Modern machines have entered that ancient village.
Everything has changed.
The clear eyes of the river were polluted and got cataracts.
Tall buildings occupy the land where wheat grows.
It also blocks sunlight, clouds and wet grass.
Wide roads replaced dusty paths.
The shrill horn of a speeding car.
Drowned the crisp and tactful voice of birds.
The same sweat, flowing with different feelings.
The hurried back replaced the gossip.
I don't know why.
I always missed Na Yue for no reason that year.
Miss the smoke in the kitchen
Drift through the smell of mom's cooking.
I always miss the lotus hoe coming home in the sunset.
Scenes of talking about agriculture and rural conditions
There are also old cows, sheep and dogs barking at dusk.
Always miss the golden and full ears of wheat
And that purest, truest and most beautiful smile.
Ten, look at the picture and write poetry.
Text/sunset glow 1
It is another harvest festival.
The ears of wheat in the soil are golden like mountains.
Look around.
Great rivers and mountains in China.
Right under our feet.
The prosperity of China.
It is inseparable from the hard work of farmers' uncles.
Remember when?
With a braid.
Clothes in printed cloth
With my parents.
Face the loess and face the sky.
Feel the joy of this harvest
Life is bitter, but happy.
Tears and sweat on the face
It always makes people stupid and confused.
I have been encouraged to walk out of that mountain since I was a child.
Inspirational efforts? Start a career
I hope that in n years,
With gratitude, you can succeed.
Beyond childhood dreams, fly high.
XI。 The joy of harvest
Text/love for a thousand years
golden (yellow)
Falling ears of wheat
In the breeze
A kind of happiness
Reflected the girl's face.
Bright red clothes
blue sky
Body posture with hands around the waist.
With that sweet smile
Has put the harvested particles
Put it in your pocket.
Twelve, pull the plum
Text /S ya j
Golden wheat
Waiting for the harvest
I don't know where to go.
Wheat is also very confused.
Plums fell all over the ground.
Much like mature wheat.
I'm not wheat.
Nor was it in the distant pre-Qin period.
Future? love
The road to Wright
essay
The years when wheat is fragrant
Text/Yue Mingqing Peak xw 19762003
In the fields of May, the endless ears of wheat are full of upward momentum, the wind is blowing, the waves of wheat are rolling, and the air is filled with fresh wheat fragrance. May is a harvest season, a busy season and a pleasant season. Farmers are looking at the golden wheat waves, and their sense of accomplishment and happiness are growing secretly. My Sweetie rippling blue waves, beaming, smiling.
The season of wheat ripening is a very grand moment for farmers. Since the ears of wheat changed from green to yellow, my father went to the wheat field every day to see the ears of wheat, pinched an ear of wheat, rubbed it in his hand a few times, and blew away the skin of wheat, leaving only grains in his hand. When he chewed them in his mouth, he knew they were a little ripe. Father often picks a few ears of wheat to take home, rubs them for us to eat raw or burns them on the fire, so that we can taste the taste of new wheat. When the wheat is chewed in the mouth, a sweet smell immediately overflows between the lips and teeth, which is delicious and memorable.
As the saying goes, "the wheat is three ripe". If it is sunny for three days in a row, the wheat will ripen soon. Mature wheat grains are full and heavy. Father found a sickle, pressed it on the grindstone one by one, and ground it back and forth, grinding out a shiny crescent moon. At that time, the school had a wheat holiday, and we all went home from school to help harvest wheat. Only when my father was optimistic about the best harvest time and gave the order of "opening the sickle today" did the family go to the wheat field with joy and throw themselves into the harvest period in full swing.
I was very thin when I was a child. My parents always take my sisters to the wheat field, leaving me to feed pigs, chickens, geese and rabbits and boil enough water until they come back from work to drink. Every time I watch a large group of them happily walk out of the house with carts, shoulder poles and sickles, I will follow them to the gate and watch them go further and further, and gradually I can't even hear the sound. The room suddenly quieted down, and I didn't want to go back to the yard alone, so I sat at the door for a while. The adults and children in the village walked out of the village one after another and went to the wheat field. Most families close their doors and lock them. The whole family mobilized to grab wheat together, leaving only the old man who couldn't get up in bed. I was a special case. Soon the village was surprisingly quiet, and even the dogs stopped barking. Loneliness and fear came and captured people's hearts. I crept through the housework and found a book to hide in the corner. Being in the book, my mood rises and falls with the story in the book, mixed with sadness and joy. Sometimes I will find a good book until my parents come back. Sometimes I find a book I don't like, and I can't stand it after reading a few pages. I just wandered around the house and walked in the yard, getting more and more bored and scared, expecting them to come back soon.
Once, I was really tired of staying at home alone, so I strongly demanded to go with me to cut wheat in the wheat field. Mother coaxed me in every way, saying that the wheat field was too far from home, and it would take several miles. I can't walk. How can I cut wheat? ! I hate to stay at home and cry sadly. My father had to carry me into the cart and push me into the wheat field. I immediately burst into tears and smiled. Although I was disobedient when my sisters played along the way, I was not ashamed to let my father push me, but I was not angry or noisy. I am very happy and happy with them.
At that time, wheat was harvested by hand with a sickle and a sickle. When we came to the wheat field, my father first cut a few sickles of wheat, took out a handful, and then divided them into two strands. He twisted the wheat stalks near the ears of wheat in a cross, tied a knot, and connected the two strands of wheat stalks together as a rope to bind the wheat. We call it "Wheat Moon" and put one in the wheat field every once in a while. In order to do a good job of "Maiyue", they lined up, with cats crouching on a large wheat field, with sickles in their right hands and wheat in their left hands. When the cut wheat is too much for the left hand to hold, they gently hook it with a sickle and put it on the pre-arranged "Maiyue". The ears of wheat should cross each other from left to right, and a "wheat moon" should be filled and tied up to form a "wheat wrap". The bundled "wheat bag" father carried it to the ground with a pole and put it on the cart. My father knows the trick of loading a car and makes it look like a hill, pushing it along the road. I saw a pile of barley moving in the distance, but I couldn't see the man pushing the cart. After the cart was pushed away, my sister and I quickly picked up the ears of wheat that fell in the wheat field and around the cart. Mother said that every grain of food is hard, and we must fight for grain back to the warehouse.
Cutting wheat is very hard work. In the scorching sun, you have to put on trousers and gown to prevent sharp wheat awns from stabbing people, but sharp wheat awns often pierce your arm like needles, making your arm red and itchy. The stubble just cut with a sickle is sharper. If you are not careful, you will stab your ankle with blood. After being soaked in sweat, it hurts burning. Cutting wheat has been bent, and after a few days, my back aches and I am extremely tired, but everyone's face is filled with the joy of harvest that can't be concealed.
That day, when my father came back with the last cart of wheat, he carried me to the crossbar behind the cart, and I sat on it, just facing my father. When going uphill, my father arched himself and leaned forward hard. The car pushed his shoulder out of a deep ditch, and the sweat on my father's face ran down the muddy face and then dripped on me. I lifted my head back and held out my little hand to wipe my father's sweat. I looked at his hard work and thought that sitting in the car had added to his burden. My nose hurt and I sobbed and shed tears. At that moment, I felt that I had grown up at once and understood the hardships of life and parents. I want to come down and go by myself, but my father won't let me. Walking up the mountain and on the smooth road, my father saw me crying like a little tearful person, as if he had seen through my mind and talked to me while walking. My father told me with expectation that if I ate well, I would be strong and tall. When I grow strong, I can push my father to walk.
To this day, every time I hear the word "eat well", I feel that it is the most beautiful language deeply loved by a person. If a person can sincerely care about whether you eat well or sleep well, instead of just paying attention to whether you are beautiful or not, then this person must have you in his heart and really love you.
The wheat was pushed to the threshing floor and piled into tall wheat piles. The threshing floor is divided into production teams, and the families of the same production team put the wheat in their designated areas. When all the wheat is harvested, several families will be invited to thresh. When threshing, the machines on the threshing floor roared, and several young and old went into battle together. Several strong laborers stood side by side behind the thresher. Everyone puts a neat straw on the thresher with both hands, and the thresher rotates quickly to take off the wheat grains. On both sides, there are people who distribute "wheat wrapping paper" and people who recycle the wheat stalks stripped of wheat grains. Mother and several women squatted at the exit of the thresher and took turns picking up wheat grains with two large dustpans. The children propped up the sacks early, waited for the dustpan to be full of wheat grains, and then poured them into the sacks. The whole threshing process needs close cooperation, good coordination, order and time saving. If coordination is not good, it will be hectic and time-consuming.
The wheat grains packed in sacks are not clean, and there are some wheat chaff and incomplete threshing ears, which need to be "cultivated", usually in sunny and breezy weather. My father stood on the side of the downdraft, holding a big shovel in his hand. With a crack, he scooped up a mixture of wheat grains and wheat bran and rose lightly and obliquely above the updraft. Wheat bran is scattered in the wind, and wheat grains bounce back to the ground vertically. Next to someone with a big broom gently across the wheat pile, will sweep out the debris inside.
Spread clean wheat grains on the wheat field, spread them in a thin layer and expose them to the sun for three to five days. After the moisture of wheat grains is completely dried, they can be returned to the warehouse. At this time, the child will come in handy and be responsible for turning wheat. This is my job at home. Every once in a while, I wear a straw hat and stand barefoot on the wheat, dragging my feet and walking in circles, drawing the wheat into a winding "ditch". The wheat shows both sides of yin and yang under the sunlight, which can be fully dried. The wheat grains in the sun are very hot, their feet are hot, and they are so hot that they grin and move forward eloquently. Occasionally, I have to drive away greedy sparrows who steal food. Pile up the wheat grains at night and cover them with plastic film to prevent moisture regain. The next day, after the sun came out to dry the wheat field, it was spread out and exposed to the sun.
In the evening, adults lay a floor in the wheat field to watch the game, and children and adults play in the wheat field. Adults chat and laugh loudly, talk happily about the harvest years, or tell ghost stories to scare crazy children and let them sit down and be quiet for a while. I often sit on the ground floor of a makeshift building, watching the stars all over the sky and listening to adults telling stories. I fell asleep unconsciously when my head tilted, and I woke up the next day to find myself sleeping on the kang at home. I don't know how my parents got home.
After the wheat is dried, every household should wash some new wheat flour and steam new wheat cakes to worship their ancestors. Parents moved the altar to the yard, put it on the white flour cake that had just come out of the pot, lit incense sticks, bowed down devoutly, and thanked God for the good harvest, so that all adults and children had food. After the worship, my father took four big cakes of white flour to the ancestral grave to comfort his dead relatives and thank his ancestors for their shelter. The family is safe and smooth, and the life is stable, and the days are getting better every day.
Decades have passed, and the modern combine harvester has already replaced the traditional farming era, reducing the hardships of farmers' farming, but the years of harvesting wheat by hand have been engraved in my heart, and the fresh wheat fragrance has been lingering in my heart. I miss the warm scene of a bumper harvest, and I miss my childhood that I can't go back.
With the growth of age, I have more and more deeply realized the true taste of "every grain is hard" and realized that "a porridge and a meal are hard to come by; The connotation of "half a silk and half a wisp, constantly thinking about things difficult"