In early spring, in February, it turns from warm to cold. But the spring breeze couldn't stop it and slipped out quietly. It seems to be equipped with bells all over its body, shaking all the way as it walks, lively and playful. So, the sleeping grass woke up; the sleeping river woke up; the sleeping trees woke up. Immediately afterwards, the peach blossoms bloomed. The pear blossoms are blooming. The rapeseed flowers are blooming. Flowers come one after another. No, no, one after another is too slow, there is no time to wait! It’s meant to come on stage in a rush. Ever since, the good colors were shaken all over the sky and the earth, and the world was colorful. People's hearts began to light up, and a smile appeared on their faces unconsciously. When we meet on the road, they all look like spring. People at this time are so kind and charitable!

That day, I was looking for food for pigs and cows in a field where rapeseed flowers were in full bloom. The wind climbed up from Dongting Lake, slowly blew over the wide flood control embankment, rolled downhill leisurely, rolled over layers of green, set off waves, and finally reached my rapeseed field. When the wind comes, the rapeseed flowers will dance leisurely with the wind, flying left and right for a while, and the waves behind will push the waves forward. The scene is like a calligrapher splashing ink. The wings of the busy bee trembled faster, and it seemed that it was unsteady on the flower stamens. Even its singing voice was suspended, trying its best not to let the wind take it away. As soon as it saw me, the wind gently held my hand, carrying the coolness of the cold moon and cold stars, the water vapor in Dongting Lake, and the fragrance of rapeseed flowers, and slowly passed over my face. , the tide makes me feel comfortable. I straightened up and watched the wind dance with the rapeseed. Finally, the wind shook the pollen down, turned over the golden color of the rapeseed flowers, and danced towards the drought relief ditch behind me.

On the drought-resistant ditch, the wind keeps plowing on the branches of the willow tree. The willow tree is not angry or angry, with its green head and fine hair hanging down, and it is pampering the wind according to its temper. The wind sometimes carries the white catkins floating in the clear sky, as if they are traveling freely; the wind sometimes spreads a layer of catkins on the water, and then gently blows the catkins on the water, and the catkins float on the water waves. It goes up and down, far and near, and seems to enjoy the feeling of drifting with the flow.

Summer is here, and the wind sometimes comes out to cause trouble. Mess up the man's docile hair, and randomly sprinkle some dust or fine grass clippings on the woman's clean shoes or clothes. Farmers were stacking haystacks on the drought-resistant ditch. It rushed over and either blew the hats on the haystacks to the ground, or flew all over the sky with straw leaves. The temper of the storm was fully revealed before the thunderstorm came. Seeing that it was going to rain, the farmers were anxiously harvesting rice in the drying field, raking the ground into piles and preparing to cover it with plastic sheets. The cloth blew into the sky, and the farmer ran a few steps to catch it. The wind looked at the victorious farmer, became angry with shame, kicked up the dust on the ground, and hit the farmer's bronze face. The struggle between the farmer and the wind was the most intense at this moment.

On a summer night, the earth was hit by a heat wave, and the wind seemed like a ashamed girl, unwilling to reveal its true face. The anxious villagers who were enjoying the coolness on the flood control embankment cursed while staring at the treetops, hoping for the stars and the moon. Amidst the endless calls of the villagers, the wind revealed its shy dimples from the gaps in the jungle, blowing through the treetops and walking through the fields, gently caressing every villager enjoying the cool air, silently dissolving the sultry heat, Bring coolness and refreshment to people.

In autumn, the vigorous life begins to soften. The leaves began to turn gray and the sky became gray. But the bleak wind sang loudly all the way, drilling in and out of the crop fields, sometimes shaking the yellow fruits on the orange branches, sometimes turning over a wave of golden rice waves; dyeing the cotton fields behind the village white, and dyeing the leaves in the jungle yellow. The crops are swaying one by one, filled with heavy thoughts. Although their lives have long been soaked with the soul of the wind, they can no longer follow the wind to be romantic. However, the wind feels thick in the soul of the crops, so it carries the smell of ripe crops everywhere. This smell makes farmers happy and happy, and their blood boils.

That fall, I went to school. Sometimes, the wind will accompany me to school, and it will follow me on the country roads. The wind is a happy angel and a naughty child. Sometimes it annoys me and sometimes it makes me laugh. A gust of wind came and wet my schoolbag; a gust of wind went away and swept away the cotton hat on my head. Then, the wind blew a loud whistle again, running wildly everywhere, making the electric wires "whir" in surprise, making the window paper of Aunt Song's house "clatter", and making the wooden door of Mao Daddy's house creak. "shake. Then, the wind had fun with the dead branches and leaves on the empty soil slope, picking up dust, leaves, and feathers from the small ditch, quickly turning in a few dance-like circles, and then throwing them away like worn-out shoes. Then make out with those crouching people sitting by the haystacks or on the ridges of the fields, then get into the fence or bamboo forest and disappear without a trace. Sometimes, I was listening attentively in the classroom, and the wind suddenly exerted force, causing the glass to fly out of the window frame and shatter on the desk or on the ground.

In winter, the wind is like a drunken drunkard, suddenly going crazy, ruthlessly scraping off the remaining leaves on the trees, rolling up the loess on the ground, blowing them all over the sky, and even blowing away the thatch on the roof. Tear it off and throw it into the air, blowing down the rotten wood on the fence wall and driving the chickens and ducks around the house. A small grass was wrapped in the wind and hovered like a bird. After that, another small grass flew up and twisted each other in the air, as if they were dueling. The trees swayed furiously, grabbing, twisting, and cursing each other, making endless noises, and moaning. The paper was so scared that it ran around like rabbits, and even the earth was shaking - this is when the wind is most proud. Yes, it is like a general ordering troops on the battlefield, with thousands of horses cheering wherever he goes.

In the twelfth lunar month of winter, the grains are returned to the warehouse, and the fields are really empty. The wind looked at the bare branches, lingered on the withered yellow grass tips, and finally stood in a daze in the open fields, feeling empty in my heart. The wind knows that this year is coming to an end. It whispers and reluctantly bids farewell to all things, just like a mother bidding farewell to a child who has left home. The figure that was gradually getting away made my mother lose her soul from then on, and her concern became a watcher at the entrance of the village year after year...