In the summer of every year, my father usually takes me to my hometown. It was a peaceful, quiet countryside. In each light, out of normal as you to every time when visiting the field, the morning dew is left on the grass, making your feet cool. A cool breeze blows from the riverbank. The sun did not rise, peeking out of the trees. In the distance, in the chicken and duck village, the sound of cows coming up to eat. The smoke from the roofs rising, combined with the suitable location with the wind blowing in, sounds warm, familiar and familiar. When the two of them got home, the red sun rose to the areca trees. The sound of wheezing outside the riverbank has been synthesized, the voices of people calling to each other ... Thus, a new day begins, dear little village.