The essay of carrying Qiu home.

I followed my father down the paddy field, bent down, and bowed to the ripe rice in a nearly prone position. The rice in the field is like a bride to be married, shyly lowering her head and waiting for my wedding with excitement and eagerness. When the morning wind blows, they immediately greet each other and express their feelings in their familiar voices.

Sickle is my medium to visit autumn. I waved a sickle in the mood of pilgrimage and had the closest contact with rice. They first shivered like electric shocks, and then fell in my arms happily and cleverly. I harvest them one by one and then pile them up one by one regularly. In the early morning humidity, they showed me their special gestures. Ye Er, the straw of the tide, kept sweeping my drooping face, flapping the falling ears of grain and rubbing my arm from time to time, just like people in love naturally dally with each other and are close.

The ears of grain piled up behind me gradually increased. I put down my sickle, picked up those ears of rice, walked to an ancient threshing farm tool called "Bancang", waved it high, and then landed heavily on the wall of the Bancang. In the rhythmic crash of "hey, hey", those golden particles scattered from the tip of the straw.

The golden particles separated from the matrix are round, thick, bright and attractive. The rough chaff is covered with white and full rice. When we were young, we called it "glutinous rice". Father said that the biggest wish at that time was to eat glutinous rice and drink bottled wine every day. Land and sweat have turned these seemingly unrealistic wishes into reality. "This land supports people!" My father grabbed a handful of golden particles, as if he were communicating with me and talking to himself.

The naughty boy with ears of wheat broke free from the straw and slipped out of the barn before threshing. Like calling the children who are playing home for dinner, the father picked them up pitifully and then unscrewed them by hand. Golden particles slipped from his father's fingertips like broken pearls, reflecting his bronze face.

The straw separated from the grain was piled up in piles, and then obediently tied up in his father's rough hand as the last standing landscape in Yuan Yeli this autumn. These seemingly lifeless straws have become the most dynamic watchers in this field.

The rising sunshine in Ran Ran gradually swept away the moisture in autumn morning, but it sprinkled sweat on our cheeks and backs one by one, and together with the floating straw dust, outlined the traces of labor on our foreheads, cheeks and undershirts.

Tired, have a rest, father said. So we sat on the pile of straw that had not been tied yet. Father habitually took out a cigarette bag pinned to his waist, put a pot of cigarettes on it, took a deep breath, and then exhaled smoke intensively. Smoking, greedily and comfortably enjoying a moment of comfort after work. I unscrewed the lid of the kettle and gulped down a mouthful of wine at the spout. A few bold sparrows tried to pick up some lost grains on the ridge of the field. Occasionally, villagers passing by greeted loudly and told a few jokes.

Those who are still waiting to get married are still shyly showing attractive elegance in the fields. The proudest plants in this autumn always release unparalleled elegance in the most humble way.

After smoking a pot of cigarettes, my father stood up and I stood up with him. Take it away, it's time to go home for dinner, dad said. First, we bound all the straw piled up in disorder on the ground, and then put the millet in the board bin in a bamboo basket and put it in the basket we brought. Although this bamboo ware is crude, it's a sedan chair to marry Su's family! Pick up two baskets on the ground and we will help each other carry them back. In tandem, our father and son will carry them home in another heavy autumn!