That year, a scarecrow in the wheat field kept waiting hard for the arrival of the wheat season from day to night, from dawn to dusk, from the rainy season to the dry autumn. At the beginning, it was fluffy, smiling, and full of confidence... And occasionally fluttered the colorful flags in its hands to say hello to the breeze... But time gradually passed, and the world went through vicissitudes. Many years later, the wind and rain had already worn away all the water chestnuts on its body, and the yellow grass clothes fell off, leaving only a shriveled figure, a smiling face covered with withered moss, and a little bird standing on its shoulder, singing a song of death for it... These years, these tragic stories, those years, those old friends who left, many years later, we have all become nothing in the world, and only the scarecrow is still waiting hard for the wheat season. After so many years, maybe the wheat season has also forgotten the appearance of spring, and the morning clouds and the clouds in the sky are drifting farther and farther away...