When I was young, I lived with my grandparents in a small village. Contrary to the tall buildings in the city, the village lies by hills and waters.

  There is a hill behind the house. I often climb to the top of the hill and look around the scenery of whole villages. To the east, not far away are low houses. They are still in red bricks and unpainted in white. A path encircles the house. On both sides of the path, there are lots of ginkgo trees. When autumn comes, the roads are covered with many ginkgoes. My grandmother will pick them and sell it on the market. Looking south, you can see beautiful fields which overgrow with corn, sorghum and rice. The crops grow in one piece and merge into the blue sky in the distance. To the west, it is a greenhouse grown with strawberries. Visitors can choose to pick on their own or buy ready picked. At the foot of the mountain, a river goes through the village. In the past, my sister and I fished shrimps and spiral lions on it.

  I love my hometown and I like to go back to live with my grandparents on vocation.