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The rugged mountain breeze paints my cheeks with a rosy hue,
the scorching heat of the yellow earth toughens my body, the serene mountain
springs purify my soul, and the resonant mooing of cattle in the muddy
fields awakens my dreams.
I am a farmer's son. "Grandpa sleeps in the soil, Dad sweats in the soil,
and I take a bath in the soil." I was born and raised in the soil, with the
raw scent of the earth running in my veins.
My childhood was spent on the backs of cattle. I didn't have toy trains,
Transformers, or SD dolls, but I had handmade mud figures that smiled at me
silently as I slept. I had grandpa's bamboo flute, carved from the green
bamboo in the mountains, playing mischievous melodies under the starry sky,
and I had Dad's paper kites that lifted my childhood wishes high up in the
romantic spring breeze.
I am a farmer's son. I have a bare heart, untouched by adornments or
embellishments. Just like the majestic mountains and the cicadas chirping on
the parasol trees, I stand naked, barefooted, letting the "Rural Wind"
caress me and the "Hometown Mud" wrap me.
I am a farmer's son. I study in a city far away from home, while my parents
toil and sweat in the fields.
I am a farmer's son. I have a great father named "Farmer." The mountains are
his backbone, the oxen are his companions, and the deep furrows bear the
traces of his years. His sweat once scalded the hot soil, and his wrinkles
built my future.
I am a farmer's son. On the open field, I bend down deeply, holding the soil
under my feet, smiling through tears, overlooking the clear stream or gazing
at the mountains.
I am a farmer's son. In the near future, I will carry a heavy backpack, the
scent of the earth, and the entirety of a farmer's life, bidding farewell to
the mountains and my mother, pursuing my dreams in a distant land.
Yes, I am a farmer's son. Wherever I go, I will never forget the 9.6 million
square kilometers of land that gave birth and raised me. |
