满眼都是金黄色的稻子。站在打谷场上,就像站在一块礁石上,从丘陵上顺坡溜下来的风,吹动了低沉着脑袋的稻子,形成一股耀眼的浪波。小村庄洋溢着稻香和青草的气息。七叔一脸喜悦,咬着旱烟袋,在田间踱来踱去。七叔走到自家田边,坐在田埂上,用手抚摸着稻穗,他触摸到了希望。这是一个丰收年啊!天不下雨,这几天就要开镰了。太阳抖搂出全身的热量,拼命地射出灼人的光。庄稼汉戴着大斗笠,脖子上挂条湿毛巾,弯下了腰杆,欻欻欻地收割着。坐在山坡上,满耳朵尽 All eyes are golden rice. Stand on the threshing floor, like standing on a rock, slipped down from the hills on the slope of the wind, blowing the head of the rice paddy, forming a dazzling wave of waves. The village is filled with the smell of rice and grass. Seven uncle a look of joy, biting piles of tobacco, pacing in the field. Uncle seven went to their own side of the field, sitting on the ridge, hand touching the rice, he touched the hope. This is a harvest year ah! It is not raining, these days it is necessary to open a sickle. The sun shook the whole body heat, desperately fired scorching light. The Han dweller wore a big hat and hung a wet towel around his neck, bending over his spine and harvesting it. Sitting on the hillside, full of ears