My agreement with my hometown wheat field

My hometown is in the plain of eastern Henan, and the wind is always wrapped in the clear aroma of wheat.

When I was a child, I looked forward to early summer the most. As soon as it was light, I grabbed my grandmother's wheat straw fan and ran towards the field ridge. The waist high wheat straw held the solid wheat ears, and the wind blew them up, making my arms itch. I always squat at the edge of the field picking the fullest wheat ears, holding a small handful in my palm, and leaning against the wildfire on the field ridge to start a fire. The burning aroma spreads out in an instant, rubbing off the black dust and blowing it clean. In my palm lie soft green and yellow wheat grains, stuffed into my mouth, so sweet that even my cheeks are crispy. Grandpa wiped his sweat and laughed at me as a 'little greedy cat in the wheat field', saying that these wheat grains have to endure a whole winter of frost and snow from planting to harvesting, in order to accumulate so much sweetness.

Later on, I followed my parents to school in the city and always thought about the fragrance of wheat on the edge of the fields. A while ago, I went back to my hometown specifically to harvest wheat. Standing by the edge of the contiguous wheat fields, I watched as the combine harvester swallowed golden ears and spat out wheat stalks. New wheat flowed out from the grain outlet and shone warmly on the sun field. I just realized that these wheat plants standing silently in the fields hold the softest memories of my childhood and the steadfast days of generations in my hometown. I put a small bag of new wheat grains in a glass jar and placed it next to my desk. When the wind came in through the window crack, I felt the warm temperature of the wheat tips rubbing against my wrist again.