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It was a clear morning after the rain, but the sun had not yet come out. The village was surrounded by layers of mist, and the birds that had woken up early began to chirp, making the quiet atmosphere suddenly full of vitality. In the fields in the distance, farmers were walking around in shadows and shadows. They carried baskets on their backs, held scythes, wore straw hats, and raincloths. They were exploring everywhere, turning over here, planing there, sometimes bending down, sometimes standing up, and the rain and dew hanging on the branches and leaves wet their clothes without even noticing. They seemed to be looking for something, walking in a hurry, but not in a hurry, looking very calmly, as if they were looking for something, which was dispensable to them, but at the same time they were so hungry and thirsty. If you go up and inquire, a sincere farmer will tell you: I am looking for chickens.