Every one of us, everyone has his homeland. The hometown is a sweet-pot, a place to leave beautiful memories in life. Even if you have to go far, people always remember about the fatherland.

I grew up in a low-lying area, where there is a straight field. And perhaps the rice paddy field is always attractive to pull people, go away thinking about where they cut off their belly button. Spring mornings stand at the head. How is the village looking at the field? The spring wind blows lightly, the wave of rice paddled each time, each chase away each other forever. A flock of white storks spread wide wings flying over, standing on the blue sky. Especially when the farmers go to the grass, the field up the line howling singing. Butterflies are colorful enough to play with green rice mats. In the season of rice is full of nine, if anyone standing far away will see a vast sea of ​​gold. Scattered throughout the field is a scene of farmers harvesting rice, white cone hugging in the field.

nè đơn giản

1500N