Soil fragrance

? Before writing a composition, after the rain, it would naturally bring out words like "the wet wind is mixed with the fragrance of grass and earth". But I hesitated soon after I finished writing, because I didn't know whether the tiny smell from the dark soil in my heart could really be called aroma.

? Maybe I was born in the city. I have been used to asphalt roads and crosswalks since I was a child. There are few opportunities to really walk on the dirt road. So in my eyes, the soil has become a point under plants in flower beds and green belts. The exposed brown soil in the construction, accompanied by the dust raised, has become a desolate and dirty place in my heart.

? Standing on the roadside, I am used to seeing my parents pick up their children playing with mud on the roadside, patting the mud on their pants, complaining about their ignorance and how dirty the mud is. I am used to seeing parents take away the mud that their children are holding tightly, throw it back to the ground regardless of their crying, and then take the children away quickly with a frown and anger. I often wonder how many of these parents grew up playing with mud in the fields.

How many people still have feelings for the land?

My grandmother is seventy years old this year. Although she always wanted to live in a building in the city, because she didn't want to live in the soil, she still squeezed into a small house by the field and guarded the land where she had worked for most of her life. We often advise her not to plant crops, which can be bought in the market, and working in the fields all day is too tired for a man in his seventies, and his income is not good, so he should plant other crops. But she always promised in front of us, but after we left, she still couldn't help but toss about in the fields with bags of seeds. She always finishes drying all the beans and rice before we come back, specially choosing a basket of vegetables and a melon at random. After a long time, we stopped persuading her. On her small land in Xiaotian, she worked for half her life and finally raised my father, brother and sister. Now she must continue to work so that we can continue to eat our own food. It seems that in her mind, only her parents' dishes are not added, only her own dishes are fragrant. I don't know if I've been working in the soil for too long, and my skin has been smoked like mud. Her thin and bent back and legs are no different from the sickle that she can't do without standing up and squatting all day long. Even so, she always led me to that land, holding a handful of sand-like soil that had just been loosened in both hands, putting it next to her nose, taking a bite with joy and satisfaction, and then rubbing her hands while talking, letting the soil fly down from the gap between her hands. Those things that have been polluted by some city people are so precious in her heart that she can't bear to part with that land.

? I believe that people should have feelings for the soil, which should be similar to our mother's. This gratitude should not be diluted by the distance and disgust in my heart. Imagine what kind of life can be separated from the soil and what kind of food is not a gift from the soil?

? We should be grateful rather than disgusted, because the earth is colored. Gratitude made her grow golden rice, red tomatoes and purple lentils. Thanks to the "little eyeball" who pinched mud with her in the field, the boy who ate peanuts by the field grew up and realized his colorful dream.

We should thank the soil for its selflessness. Grateful to her, regardless of other people's disgust, she still transports her own nutrients through the vertical and horizontal roots without reservation, and transports them to the top of plants with power beyond gravity. Even if people just praise how beautiful the flowers and plants on her body are.

Soil has a unique fragrance, which has gone beyond the sense of smell. I don't often mention the fragrance of the soil after the rain now, but I don't think I will hesitate even if I mention it again.