The yellow dress and the rippling rice fields, together in a feast of the earth

At the foot of the mountain, the rice fields spread like a green silk carpet, the tips of the rice leaves still glistening with morning dew. When the wind passes, the entire field ripples with delicate waves, carrying the crisp scent of grass and leaves. Standing by the ridge, my bright yellow dress, like a ribbon cut from sunlight, becomes the most vivid stroke of color against the sea of green. I find a rock half-hidden by rice stalks to sit on, the skirt spreading out like a blooming flower, its vibrant hue clashing playfully with the green of the rice leaves and the brown of the soil. My fingertips lightly brush the drooping rice ears, feeling the plump fullness of the grains. In the distance, the mountain shadows fade into a soft blue, while cicadas weave a delicate web of sound around me, the air itself tinged with a faint sweetness. As the wind lifts the hem of my dress, the rice waves sway gently in response, as if dancing with the yellow fabric. Sunlight filters through the gaps between the rice leaves, casting dappled light on the skirt, flickering like fireflies. In those fleeting moments, it feels as though I’ve melted into this vibrant green—yet the pop of yellow keeps me strikingly alive. When the shutter clicks, the rustling of rice leaves, the whisper of the mountain breeze, and the soft flutter of the skirt all fade into the background. The most moving scenery, it turns out, is to place oneself into the earth’s palette—letting the passion of the yellow dress embrace the serenity of the rice fields, turning an ordinary day at the mountain’s foot into a poem fragrant with the scent of rice.