"Cicada... cicada... cicada..."
Cicadas still called incessantly from the big tree by the village fields. Beneath it, an old farmer had once again brought his grown grandson to inspect the fields.
The old farmer wiped the sweat from his face with the towel hanging around his neck, then looked up at the sun in the sky and the patch of brilliant light far off in the south.
"This cursed weather—at this time of year, there is not even frost, and the cicadas are chirping all day long. Is winter not coming this year?"
"Grandpa, if it is still this hot, should we plant another crop of rice?"
The grandson was broad and sturdy. Wiping away sweat, he drew his gaze back from the fields and looked up at the branches of the big tree, seemingly searching for that cicada.
"Plant what? The late rice has already been harvested. If the weather suddenly changes after we plant, the crops will all die in the fields!"
The grandson loosened his vest and fanned himself with his clothes, but his heart was filled with irritation. He looked up at the big tree again, feeling that the cicadas were growing louder and more unbearable by the moment.
"You go home first, grandpa. I'll clear out the ditch opening myself."
"How could that do? We will go together."
"Oh, Grandpa, go back and rest. Hasn't your waist been sore lately?"
The old man unconsciously touched his waist and helplessly shook his head.
"I am old... Then Grandpa will go home and rest. You..."
"Ah, Grandpa, I am not little anymore. There is not much work anyway, so just go home."
Suppressing the irritation in his heart, the grandson urged the old man to leave. He even took the hoe from the old man's shoulder and