I want to talk to McGrady about prose.

It's almost June again, and I have a lot to say to McGrady.

Let's talk about the land I used to own. I cut wheat on my own land.

When I first learned to walk, I sat in the field and watched my mother cut wheat. The sun shines on me, on wheat and on my mother. Mother made a nest for me with some bundles of wheat. I was lying in my nest, watching my mother waving a sickle, which shone brightly.

After I was able to walk, I followed my mother to pick up the ears of wheat. Mom is in the front, and I'm in the back. Mother's sickle cut off the wheat piece by piece and tied it up again. I will pick up the ears of wheat, tie them into bundles of wheat flowers and give them to my mother whose face is covered with wheat rust and sweat. The sun is poisonous, and mother's back and arms are all skin. Mother's sweat, along the wheat straw, flows into a small river. Seeing that I was hot, my mother urged me to wait for her under the willow tree at the head of the field until the golden patches fell completely.

Later, I went to school, which was a primary school. The floor paved with gold, old and young, bent down, who can be idle. As soon as I had a wheat holiday, I went to cut wheat with my mother. At first, the sickle was clumsy in my hand. My mother taught me to cut one by one, and then cut one by one. I only cut one ridge, but my mother can cut more than a dozen ridges. A knife down, is a piece of land. Seeing that I was far away from her, my mother turned to meet me. It was my mother who taught me to cut wheat. At first, my mother kept bending over, and when she couldn't cut, she saw her kneeling in the wheat field. Imitating my mother, I also knelt on the ground, and I began to feel sorry for my mother. I always thought it might be more comfortable to kneel, and I didn't want that hot pimple and sharp stubble to hurt my knees. For the first time, I feel that cutting wheat is really not a good job. From that day on, I seemed to realize what the ancients said, "Who knows that every grain of Chinese food is hard?" Mom said that if you don't want to grow up and cut wheat, you have to study hard. I didn't say anything, just hung my head and agreed.

Go out early and come back late, and you will be sleepy when you cut and cut. My mother tells me stories, such as Cowherd and Weaver Girl, Fan Lihua and Guo Dingmi ... Every story seems to remind us for a period of time. I saw my mother several times and fell asleep after cutting the wheat. At that time, I thought, I will study hard and ask my mother not to cut wheat again in the future.

Watching the golden wheat year after year, watching myself grow up year after year, and listening to my mother's story year after year.

After I went to middle school, I didn't have a busy holiday and sat in a cool classroom. I can still imagine my mother working in the hot sun. Thought of here, my heart is hot and my eyes are full of tears. I told myself that I must study hard.

I lost my land after I went to college. Mother still cuts wheat every year. Without land, mother is unhappy. Reasoning with a large group of people, they said that I am no longer from this land. I was very angry after listening to it, and all my leaves fell off. No matter where I go, I should own a piece of land in my hometown.

After work, I became a civil servant. Mom is happy, but I am always unhappy. I thought if I went to school, I could change the fate of a family. And I still can't change my mother's hard work and my family's life. I taught my book in another country. Mother still cuts wheat on her land year after year.

Now let's talk about it. Now, living conditions are good. You hardly have to worry about eating and drinking. And mother still guards the land in her hometown and her wheat. I have repeatedly advised my mother to donate the land and come to the city with me. If my mother refuses, I can't leave this land, even if everyone doesn't want it, I can't bear it. It's different now than in previous years. Wheat is easy to harvest. We don't use sickles anymore, and we don't cut on our knees. The harvester rattled and finished in a few minutes. How easy it is for mother to say.

Mother is old, her hair is white, and her back is hunched early. Every few steps hurt her waist. This is my mother's long-term illness. My mother refused to take her to the city. She can't put down an acre of her own wheat, and there are a group of chickens, ducks, goats and rabbits. Mother is used to hard work and goes to her field every morning and evening to have a look. It suddenly dawned on me that the older a person is, the more reluctant he is to leave home, which is inseparable from the soil where he was born and raised.

Going home on weekends, my mother took me to see her wheat fields. Standing in the field, my mother told me happily that the weather was good this year. You see how gratifying the wheat has grown this year. The sun stirred the wheat waves, and the wheat grains were full and warm in a golden yellow. At this time, I seemed to see my mother when I was young. She is cutting wheat in the field with a sickle. The sickle sparkled and the wheat fell obediently one by one.

When I retire in the future, I will go back to my hometown. I also want a piece of land, a piece of land of my own. In that soil, I planted my favorite wheat. Stay with her. Watching her sprout day by day, jointing day by day, flowering day by day, heading day by day, and growing into golden yellow day by day. At that time, I would say to the wheat field that I used to be the owner of this land, and I also cut wheat.

We are all lovers of wheat fields.

Haizi said: We are all lovers of wheat fields. Maybe you won't find this feeling unless you go near the wheat field.

I have lived with McGrady since I was a child. Even now that I have left that place, I still miss that wheat field in my heart, just like I miss my parents. Standing on the balcony on the fourth floor, I always look north, old parents and green wheat.

At the weekend, everyone agreed to go to the hillside ten miles away to see peach blossoms. I didn't go. I just want to go back to my hometown alone to see the wheat.

I have been unable to escape the peach blossom for many years, and I will go from January to March. If you don't go, you will feel bad about the peach blossoms in spring.

In recent years, somehow, every time this season, I will unconsciously think of the wheat fields in the country. Sometimes, I have to think endlessly. Maybe you are getting old. Once you are old, you will be homesick.

Why not go to see peach blossoms this spring? Colleagues seem to ask me when they see me. A bad old man, even crying and shouting to watch peach blossoms with young people, will be laughed off.

Whether to go or not, the peach blossoms are here. I said.

I want to go to the country alone, because there is my favorite wheat in the country.

Without the hustle and bustle of the city, my heart will be quiet inch by inch. The wind in the country is very good and fresh. Take a sip. It seems a little sweet. More, it is the green fragrance of wheat seedlings, close to your lips. The wind is warm, with the body temperature of the sun. In the wind, the wheat waves are cheerful. Spring in the countryside seems to be more turbulent than in the city. There is hardly any spring in the city at the moment.

In the distance, you can see endless green carpets spread there. That green, dazzling purity. There are several children flying kites, and I seem to see my lush years rolling in the wheat waves again. When I was a child, I liked spring best. When spring comes, warmth comes. Unload the load and go to the wheat field with friends to be a wind-chasing teenager. At that time, my friends were all around me, and I was the biggest "king" in the spring wheat field. Everyone ran against the wind and walked through the wheat waves with a smile. I like to cut pig grass in the wheat field. Shepherd's purse, noodles and mother-in-law Artemisia hide in the wheat waves, showing their little faces from time to time. How can they avoid their childhood eyes? Barefoot, stepping on soft patches, chasing free wheat waves against the wind. What a joy and comfort this is. The carefree of teenagers seems to be given by this green wheat field.

I remember one early winter, there was no snow. Wheat seedlings grow wantonly, and this growth cannot be stopped. In the wind, the wheat waves are like the waves of the sea. When I saw Lang Mai, I was ecstatic, but my parents were worried. Father always said, it's too long, too long. There is too much disappointment and helplessness in the sigh. My father should have been happy when the wheat seedlings grew so well, but he was always unhappy in those days. Father goes to the wheat field every day, walks in the fields and walks outside every day. I know he loves wheat dearly, as if wheat were his sweetheart. One night, my father left a word that from tomorrow morning, everyone will go down to the lake to shovel wheat seedlings. The whole family froze inexplicably after hearing this. Questioning my father, my father kept silent all night.

The next day, the lake was full of people waving sickles to cut wheat seedlings. Father squatted on the edge of the wheat field, did not start work, felt this tree and that tree with love, and his eyes were full of tears. From my father's melancholy past, I can see that he is in throbbing pain. Run over and ask dad, why do wheat seedlings cut like this? My father held the shoveled wheat seedlings in his hands and said nothing with a sullen face. In the cold wind, beside the wheat field, my father stood on a tree.

One winter, my father didn't live a stable life. He is worried that those cut wheat seedlings will never survive this winter. Even during the Spring Festival, my father kept watch in the wheat field.

Just after the New Year, spring came cautiously. After the shock, the wheat seedlings began to turn green day by day. At this time, I saw my father's smiling face, rippling in the spring wheat field.

I seem to like wheat better after that.

Walking on the country road, the wheat fields on both sides are green, like a deep sea. This time, I dare not step into the sea for fear that it will hurt its spring dream. I just stood on the shore and watched the wheat waves in the spring breeze dance happily together. Sometimes butterflies and birds fly by. They are like fish in the sea, jumping along the wheat waves. That scene, as Haizi said, faces the sea and is in full bloom in spring. Watch it grow green and listen to its creaking jointing sound. The joy in my heart immediately fell on the spring breeze. Peach blossoms are in bloom, and apricot flowers are in bloom. Is the green wheat dreaming, too

Every time I go to see the wheat, my mood is different. This time I went with the mood of seeing peach blossoms. When I look at McGrady, I really think she is my sweetheart.

In this life, I can't hide from peach blossoms, and I can't hide from wheat fields.