Summer Pasture

 　　Summer is a season of lush greenery and verdant growth. It's the perfect time for grazing.

　　Early in the morning, before the sun has fully risen, I'm awakened from my sleep by the mooing of a bull. I rub my sleepy eyes, get up, and lead it out of the pen to a grassy embankment.

　　The embankment, with its green grass and open fields, is the ideal place for grazing. The dew-kissed grass forms a thick, green carpet, shimmering with light. Before I can even stand still and release the reins, the bull breaks free and eagerly begins to graze.

　　At this time, I pick up a book, sit a short distance away, and read intently. The scent of the grass, mingled with the sounds of the bull grazing, settles in the book and enters my heart.

　　Sometimes, I run freely along the embankment with my fellow herders, without worrying that the bull will damage the crops. The reason was simple: the embankment was wide enough, the grass abundant, and the cattle could graze to their hearts' content.

　　Herding cattle in the late afternoon was no easy task. Even at five o'clock, the sun was still scorching. Walking on the embankment without any shade from the trees, the cattle panted heavily from the heat. Waves of heat swept across the grass with the gentle breeze, carrying the earthy smell of the soil and the scent of fresh grass. Despite wearing a straw hat or carrying a parasol, beads of sweat kept dripping from my forehead and face, no matter how much I wiped them away.

　　In the distance, my mother called out affectionately. I answered, impatiently pulling on the reins, trying to drag the cattle out of the pond. But no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't budge, even playing a tug-of-war with me, their noses stiff.

　　The most pleasant time was a cloudy day without rain. The weather wasn't too hot, and the cows grazed freely. I lay on my back on the grass, my head resting on my hands, watching the birds fly by and the clouds drift by, lost in happy daydreams.

　　When the cows got tired, they stretched their necks and mooed towards a few other cows not far away, and occasionally, other cows would respond with a moo. At dusk, my friends and I would playfully lead the cows home. Although it lacked the joyous imagery of "sharing short flutes and long whips, chasing each other along the southern and eastern hills," there was still boundless happiness.