It is the season of jointing, heading, flowering and seed-setting of wheat that is full of green waves. As we approached the wheat field, we saw long ears of wheat with dense sharp edges, and small white flowers blooming from the root of the sharp edges. Some unknown little bees were circling around the ears of wheat. Big Sister Hua was also on the ears, and the leaves were busy climbing up and down.
The golden wheat fields are like endless waves.
A breeze blew and golden waves of wheat rose in the terraces. It's more spectacular than the waves of the sea.
The green wheat fields fascinate me and intoxicate me! The feeling of "harmony between man and nature" blossoms instantly with dandelions, and drifts to the infinite distance...
The wheat fields are like beautiful drawings, soft and tough, swinging gently with the wind.
The wheat seedlings stretched out their tender leaves, withstood the bright rain and dew, as green as jadeite.
In May, the wheat fields turned yellow, one after another. On the strong orange pole, there are spikes that ripen so delightfully and deeply, like a string of golden sweat beads, like the boundless golden sea.
The wheat fields were yellow as if covered with a golden carpet.
The extension of the green belt is the wheat field, the breeze blowing, the wheat waves rolling, the golden ears of wheat, get heavy hands.
Mai Mang stands upright, like a broom to the head. The grain is round and bigger than the best apple seed.
In the wheat field, the ears are full and golden. When the wind blows, the wheat waves roll, making people relaxed and happy.
Whether they look in that direction, spring wheat is not tall between heaven and earth, but nobody bends down. They carry me with you. I hold you like a flexible screen. They comfortably affect the spring breeze; like a magical blanket, they have been spread into endless white clouds, into the red clouds at the top of the mountain.
When winter goes to spring, willows turn green, and the warm spring wind blows green the endless wheat fields, wrinkling the still flowing river. Sweet spring rain, as light as spider silk, as thin as needle, as long as thread, as close as sieve to the earth.
The wheat fields are like mermaid's long golden hair, which is imaginative.
Spring, boundless wheat fields, green oil, refreshing, lively, laughing Langlang, the breeze blowing, bursts of fragrance...
Wandering in the countryside, looking at the fields of crops, golden wheat fields, looking at the fields of a green fruit forest, those green fruits, in this season has the youthful sunshine and charm.
Standing quietly in the wheat field with a few golden colors, with a little warm wind blowing, watching the wheat waves layer by layer, closing their eyes, as if they heard the call of the earth, and smelled a trace of the joy of harvest.
From a distance, the wheat fields rolled like a golden ocean.
The wheat fields are clean and mysterious.
It's snowing. The wheat seedling doll is sleeping soundly under the snow quilt. Some of the wheat seedling dolls stick their heads out of the quilt, like a naughty boy looking forward to, looking curiously at the world made up of powder and jade.
Looking from afar, the wheat seedlings grew densely and neatly, as if the furry green carpet had been laid out by the Sichuan cutting knife. The light brown stalks are interwoven with longitude and latitude, just like the colorful patterns in the green carpet, which are beautiful and generous. When the breeze blows, the wheat seedlings shake gently, as if shaking their own spirit, ready to make the whole body spoon gas to go up.
In the distant wheat fields, the golden wheat is linked together like a golden ocean. When the breeze blows, the wheat sways like waves. They beat each other. In this ocean, the harvesters become fishing boats. They drive slowly, leaving the straw-covered road as the aftermath of fishing boats.
Mature wheat, with its heavy waist pole, rubs against each other and makes verbose noises. The harvester rang and the wheat fields fell in rows.
Gradually walking farther and farther, the rugged mountains, the green wheat fields, the curling smoke are a little light, light, gradually fading into a ray of time, invisible.
The wheat harvest is the busiest time of the year, watching the endless wheat fields, the gentle breeze blowing golden waves rolling, the heavy ears of wheat bending the straw, as if to see the jar of wheat, steaming white buns, floating oil flower noodles soup, the spirit immediately came up, all the body is vigorous.
The wheat field is romantic and simple. The wheat incense in the distance has quietly sunk into the depths of the soul and falls gently and gently.
The wheat fields appeared before us like golden beaches.
The wheat fields are like autumn girls'dresses, moving with the wind.
I sat on the bench and looked at the green wheat fields and the red sunset in the sky. Ji Xiaolan has a pair of sons and daughters: one kind of person is loyal to his minister and filial son, two things are reading and farming.
In summer, the wheat fragrance rushes, and the whole wheat field is like a sea of gold.
Rye bears spikes, which are not yet full, but are still floating lightly. A pale green wave of wheat waved in the wind.
Ripe wheat, spikes straight, sharp, masculine.
Large tracts of wheat fields are full of green waves in the breeze. They blossom in the endless green sea. The ears of wheat raise their high heads and tangle the sunshine of the white flowers with light wheat fragrance. They visit the golden yellow in the sharp wheat-awn-led Bugoogle singing.
The wheat fields are too green to be seen at a glance.
Around the awn seeds, the almonds are fragrant and cuckoos are singing. Then the wheat is ripe. The wheat waves fluttered with the wind, and the ears of yellow orange and orange bowed their heads attentively. The smell of the harvest made the farmer's eyes only feverish.
The wheat fields are stretched out with tender leaves and shining rain and dew. They are green and shining like jadeite.
Returning green wheat seedlings, plush and green, are carrying crystal-clear dew beads in the morning glow.
The wheat fields came to us like golden waves.
Films of wheat straightly pointed to the sky, such as knight-errant with sword. It's just these awns that make our eyes ache, as if we can't bear to stare at the farmer's hard work and sweat. They want to hurt our hearts and make us cry.
The wheat fields are yellow, one after another. On the strong orange pole, there are spikes that ripen so delightfully and deeply, like a string of golden sweat beads, like the boundless golden sea.
In the distance, the golden paddy fields, blown by the autumn wind, roll like a golden wave, very spectacular.
Early morning sunshine across the golden wheat fields, the straw man lazily opened his dim sleeping eyes, the best scenery in an instant fixed in the mature season.