In the morning, the rooster put on his pants early and fluttered his wings to welcome Taitai. The arrival of. Wow, let out a cry and roll around the country like a gong. Actually, it's not too early to know you. Light, but smoke flying over the countryside. In rural areas, the earliest people to get up are hardworking and simple villagers. Their hands are holding the silk thread of life, the hand of affection, the arm of hospitality and the sleeve of happiness. This is the most spectacular, complicated and warm scenery. That smoke is a sign of their life.

Cooking smoke is a group of boneless animals, good at expressing happiness, warmth, enthusiasm, joy and other emotions. Just like Qinshui, they emerge from cracks in tiles, doors, windows and chimneys. They are overwhelming and exciting. Entering the sky is like cattle and sheep entering the open grassland and galloping at will. It is also like running water rushing into the vast ocean and rushing at will. Swing, run and dance in the sky. Tear happiness into a flag, twist warmth into a rope, fly enthusiasm into a kite, and twist happiness into a dance, which is vivid and beautiful. My hometown, Ziniang Garden in western Hubei, once experienced the worst famine. The famine was a ruthless sword that cut off the smoke in the countryside. There is no smoke in the country, silence is a silent rock, and the whole valley is desolate and depressed. Only when the smoke is alive, the countryside is a vivid picture.

Cooking smoke is also a group of obscene. At first, they were raised in various families. But once in mid-air, they will be intertwined and can't tell which is yours and which is mine. Then, they are like mountain babies raised by corn, potatoes and sweet potatoes in the mountainous areas of western Hubei, playing hide and seek, playing house, chasing, shouting and frolicking with lamb-like enthusiasm and calf-like wildness. The shoes ran away, the braids were scattered and the buttons were torn, but they still laughed, shouted, chased and rowed. Paint the future of the countryside as a blue sky.

Kitchen smoke is also a group of dancers. I am infatuated with the gentleness of the wind, longing for an open stage and cohesion. Under the pure and filtered sky, with the most beautiful body and the most beautiful dance, dance out thousands of customs and jump out of the unyielding soul. And those bright eyes, and tenacious mind, will always be upward, soaring towards the blue sky and white clouds, forever.

Smoke is the music of life. It is about a hearty meal on the plate and sings about a bumper harvest. As long as the smoke comes together, housewives' hands are busy as a pair of dancing butterflies, picking vegetables from the ground, scooping rice from the jar, cutting meat on the kang, washing and scouring. Or steaming, or boiling, or frying, or stewing, or frying and baking. That cabbage, radish, pepper, eggplant, pumpkin, tofu, bacon and so on. Open your colorful mouths and start singing in chorus. The basin, bowl, shovel, ladle and spoon lit up their throats and began to play nonstop. Busy to bring a table of food, it is glittering affection, love, enthusiasm and happiness. What you chew in your mouth and drink in your mouth is bright, hardworking, delicious, hospitable and sweet. The hand of life is a never-ending waterwheel, which keeps turning, caressing the four seasons in the countryside and moving the sun, the moon and the stars. The pigs scattered in the pen, the chickens raised in the pen, the ducks swimming in the river, the cheerful fish in the pond, the sheep grazing on the slope, and the grain filled in the barn have all become the sticks of life, and the songs in the countryside are not old, ensuring the smoke from the kitchen. As long as the fireworks continue, life will continue and life will continue.