Autumn is the harvest season, the farmers uncle to the grain of a bucket of barrels, a bag of pick picked to the door of their own homes, if you look down on the roof, wow! Montreal is the yellow Can.
　　Today, I will help the grandmother to receive gold, eat breakfast, and my grandmother and take a sickle and sacks to the ground to cut beans, came to the ground, I saw other people h**e cut a few heap, and we h**e not started, I My heart a little urgent, grandmother saw my mind, said to me: a bean can not be impatient, must first bend over, feet apart, left hand holding bean sprouts, rig the ground. I follow the grandmothers words try to cut a few, Oh! Too tired, hand pain, waist also back pain, this time father Mother and grandpa also came, I shouted: Come ah! Help us a bean, I took the opportunity to slip away. Sitting on the grass to think; really Who knows the Chinese grain particles are hard ah. I must cherish the food. Suddenly the grandmother told me to send them some water, I quickly took the kettle ran, less than a moment, they cut more than half, all tired and sweating, his face was filled with the joy of harvest.
　　I love the beautiful autumn, but also love the harvest season more love in the field of hard-working farmers.