Thousands of miles away from home, I still miss my hometown.
On the loess land, in the wheat fields, the sun shines brightly on the plump and drooping ears of wheat, and on thousands of smooth backs, the same golden color. The autumn wind blows, and the wheat waves make a roaring sound. Those straight and curved backs, under the reflection of the sun, rise and fall like rising tide waves. The salty sweat drips, and the farmers and the wheat fields merge into one. The songs are loud and clear, and these chants shouted because of the hard work of farming have echoed in this land for thousands of years.
Purpose: Remembering hometown