Not because that place is picturesque, not because that place has attractive flavor, nor because that place has luxurious villas, but because that place is my lifelong concern. This is my dream village. I was born here and grew up here. Blue brick houses, surrounded by green trees, narrow paths, planting wheat in winter, rape in spring, rice in summer and cotton in autumn. With the new years, in the process of going back and forth, I understand that the countryside is no longer a place I didn't know when I was a child, nor a place I didn't know when I lived. He is the concern of my life.

Never far away, memory is like yesterday. The countryside wakes up early. With the crowing of chickens and the creaking of doors, a busy and noisy day began in the countryside. In the morning, men carry oxen, hoes and sickles on their backs, and go to the fields in a hurry or slow way, talking or laughing. Women washed pots and pans and made a fire to cook. Soon, smoke billowed from every household. Children who want to sleep late get up slowly, leading cows or carrying baskets, grazing cows or patting pig grass on the mountain, amid the shouts and curses of adults. Year after year, the village repeats this noise again and again, and it is in this noise that we feel the busyness of life, the hardships of life and the tranquility of years.

Spring came early in the country, and before the count of nine, hardworking fathers took cows and plows and hurried to the fields to help. With the sound of breaking ground and shouting, a piece of land reveals a new smiling face, shining like scales, and emitting a faint rural atmosphere against the backdrop of the rising sun. After ploughing, I sat on the ridge, lit a cigarette, looked at the newly turned land, looked forward to the future harvest, finished smoking and started a new job until the ground was as flat as a mirror. When the future came, I planted new seedlings and planted hope.

Hope lies in spring sowing, double harvest and autumn harvest. Spring ploughing with plows and rakes seems to be discussed by the villagers one by one. Like the competition, they took turns transplanting rice seedlings and bowed their heads in the paddy field. Working people will also make jokes when they are free to liven up the atmosphere. They will plug in one family with laughter, plug in another family after dinner, and always catch up. Summer is not like spring ploughing. When we work together, we are all busy. We are so busy that we can't wait to tie the sun with a rope to prevent it from setting. Harvest in the fields before dawn. In the morning, I am busy harvesting. When I spent a noon in the sun, I had to put it away, receive it on the threshing floor, knock down the grain in good weather and spread it out to dry. Sometimes I have to be busy until the next day. While I am busy collecting grain, I want to catch up with the season and plant seedlings, waiting for another harvest in autumn. Autumn, busy harvesting, no pains, no gains, what to plant, this time is not very busy, we exchange harvests with each other, the harvest is good, women with poor harvests begin to criticize men, and men also complain that women are slow and the seedling age is two days late, which leads to the inability to harvest, but they still harvest, and then turn over the ground to cover the coming winter.

In summer, the sunset glow recedes and the kitchen smoke disappears.