Every day, even sparrows never leave the nest. We rub our sleepy eyes, carry sickles, carry baskets, or push carts to work in the fields. Squat down with a shiny sickle in your hand, cut one by one in the lodging direction, then stroke it one by one and pile it into a pile of rice in pairs.
The rice above their heads shook gently, and the golden sunshine dyed their bodies red. Except for the song of unknown insects, there is only the creak of sickles. It is better to cut dry fields, but in order to compete for seeds, or in case of poor drainage, paddy fields will also be cut.
At that time, the ground was still a little muddy. They bent down and waved their sickles, marching forward in rows. The ears of rice rubbed their faces and bare arms from time to time, leaving red marks, which were itchy and painful after being pickled by sweat. When you cut rice barefoot, if you are not careful, your feet will step on the sharp rice stubble just cut, which is a terrible pain.