The yard is golden, and the corn in Huang Chengcheng is piled after piled, like sitting on a small golden hill.

after peeling the corn, a golden corn is exposed, and the corn grains are golden, like little pearls.

when the breeze blows, corn leaves come and go like waves in the sea.

Look, in the corn field, there are one or two strong corn cobs on each thick corn cob. Some corn cobs have grown together, like twins.

The leaves of corn swing with the wind, just like a graceful girl dancing in the field.

The corn took off its green coat and put on a yellow jacket, waiting for the farmer's uncle's acceptance.

The corn whiskers are soft, just like grandpa's beard. It's very interesting!

The golden corn was placed in front of our eyes, and the grains were full, like a fat doll.

In autumn, the corn in the field is ripe, which looks like a golden ocean from a distance.

A corn cob is about a foot long. When you peel it off, the golden corn kernels are arranged neatly like soldiers in line, as if waiting for some orders.

when the corn shell is peeled off, golden corn grains appear inside, which are full and crystal clear like topaz.

The plump corn has a white beard and grins like an old man.

The cornfields are endless, and the corns are like soldiers ready to go. They are all heroic and heroic, and huge corn cobs hang on their chests like military medals.

In summer, the corn grows taller, just like a neat square, which is arranged horizontally and vertically.

Beautiful sentences describing golden corn in autumn

Those corn kernels are rooted and sprouted in the soil, with one side up and the other side down. They grow with the breath of summer at the beginning of the night. The first corn is tiny. It breathes under the soil, and with little tenacity and little fantasy, it has no fear of heaven and earth.

In late autumn, the thick corn stalks become thin, the thick corn leaves droop, and the lush dark green becomes scorched and yellow. The cornfield is no longer so airtight, and it can make people see everything in the field sparsely. Mature corn is like a woman with a child, with a chubby corn treasure in her arms.

The corn kernels are golden and glittering. In early summer, they are in close contact with the hot soil and whisper to the moist air. I'm behind Joe and time is behind me. The soft soil covered the hard body of corn kernels.

Today, the fruits we have cultivated and the hopes we have cultivated have matured under the nourishment of spring and tempering in summer. Men and women, old and young, carrying a laundry list, carrying a cage on their backs, plunged into the cornfield. With their rough hands, they break off the corn cob and put it in a laundry basket or back cage, or pick it up or carry it home. The man who picked it walked briskly on the flat ground, the sandalwood pole was curved, the laundry list was shaking rhythmically, and a bundle of sweet corn stalks was inserted in the laundry list. These were malnourished corn stalks, and the corn was very small and thin, but the stalks were very sweet. After returning home, the corn was carved up by the children in a rush. Men and women wiped sweat, picked up two steamed Huang Chengcheng's sweet potato in the rice basket, ate and walked, and went to the soil to harvest.

these were only ten days and a half months ago, and the corn matured when it was old. Maturity seems to be a very easy thing to ponder, but also a very painful thing, which is at the expense of the passage of youth. The corn faded from the green of youth, the smallpox withered, the red tassel was no longer moist and stretched, and it was as dry as the sparse hair of an old woman, and the soft arc on the leaves disappeared in fragility. Maturity is reflected in decline. If, only in these appearances, we see the passing of life, the sadness of the sunset, and the disappearance of the clouds, we will be sad. The existence of beauty is not eternal, but always changes, matures and breeds. When youth dies, short-term pain is like childbirth, followed by maturity and sweetness.

It's a pity that no matter how lovely the corn seedlings are, they are not the two in front of me. I look down at these two corn seedlings that are still thriving in the warm autumn sun, thinking that these small leaves will never wait to become big leaves and sing in the wind, thinking that they will never produce golden corn, and my heart is tightened by an invisible thing, but watching their slightly shaky little leaves stretch happily, I don't see their fear at all. I think no regrets should be the theme of their lives. If they have to choose whether to be decadent or to grow so heartily, I think they will definitely choose to grow and show themselves heartily, even if they face the fate of ending up fruitless and freezing to death.

harvesting corn is the most tiring and the last job I want to do. Green gauze tent, dense cornfields, you can't see people when you go in. The tassels are full of pollen grains, and I am most afraid of drilling corn fields. Every time my father always cuts off the tassels with a sickle, otherwise I won't drill. Once the pollen on these corn tassels falls into the neck collar, you won't feel well for a day, and it itches unbearable. Although dad always cuts off the tassels and breaks the corn every time, I am still dressed up, despite the hot weather.

These two corn seedlings probably know that time is running out, and they are growing desperately. After a few days, they can grow a lot. Maybe God saw them growing so hard, so take special care of them. This autumn is particularly warm and long. One day after autumn, my daughter and I went to her grandmother's house. These two seedlings have grown to more than a foot high, and their leaves are not very wide, but it is very strange that their colors are not the shallow yellow-green of the seedlings, but close to the thick dark green. Although the small leaves can't sing a cheerful ballad under the wind, they will also tremble slightly in the warm autumn sun.

Back to my hometown, I saw the corn stalks releasing the last color of my life on the ridge, and the thick smoke seemed to pay homage to the heroes who had gone away. They may not be described in words, but I can feel the "magnificent life" one by one. Unfortunately, I am not a historian, otherwise I can write them into endless history; It's a pity that I'm not an artist with rolling colors, otherwise I can paint them with my hands or take a "final photo" with my camera. Standing in this once fragrant field, I can only recall it in my mind.

treasure. The sheaves of corn tassels are like yellow hair hanging down, and the yellow corn husks in the green are like swaddling clothes, and the baby corn is wrapped in them layer by layer. They are looking at their mother's chest, looking exquisite and lovely.

At that time, the cornfields were in pieces, and there was no end in sight. My family's land is often in the innermost part, and my family is also the first to harvest corn. In less than half a day, an area was cleared up. When they were tired, they lay on the cut corn oranges, gnawing pears and looking at the refreshing sky and the moving white clouds. After a while, they disappeared on the corn tassels.

in the fields, the fresh wind is blowing slowly. Spread out in front of your eyes is a cornfield full of fruits, and at the same time, it is a cornfield with countless traps, large and small.

The whole corn looks like a beautiful girl who came back from picking flowers in the mountains, with white tail feathers on her head and swaying gently in the wind. She is wearing a dark green dress and holding a bunch of colorful wild flowers in her arms. The autumn wind blows and her skirt swings. She dances gently and tells people stories about autumn with beautiful posture and colors.

At this time, the corn field is the most beautiful in a year. After a summer of abundant sunshine and rain, the corn stalks and leaves are green and black, as if you squeeze them, you can drop ink from them. The color of the whole corn has changed from green in summer to colorful now. The male tidbits on the top of the corn stalk are pure white

in the midsummer season. In the fields in the north, except occasionally a small amount of soybean sorghum, most of them are corn. The shape of corn is like sugarcane, but the straw is thicker, taller and straighter than sugarcane, and the leaves are wider, bigger and wider than sugarcane, and the green is overwhelming, which blocks people's sight. When I was a child, I looked at vast tracts of cornfields and didn't know how to describe them. I didn't know it was called "green gauze account" until I grew up.

The sky in summer is the sky of corn, and the land in autumn is the land of corn. Give the soft part of the body to the ground, and it gives the solid part of the body to the sky. Under the sky, hurricanes are out of order. Under the soil, the vast land wrapped the body of corn.

After the autumn harvest, golden corn cobs can be seen everywhere in the farm yard. The corn stacks piled up in the fence are like golden towers; The corn braid hanging under the eaves is like a string of pearl curtains. They are like smiling little arhats, laughing and telling a good harvest year.