Homesickness, you will always be the softest flower in my heart.
Hometown is the landscape painting with the deepest impression in my heart, so homesickness is the softest flower in the painting.
Time, through the long river of a hundred years, flows through every piece of land in the countryside. White, yellow, red and other enchanting flowers are everywhere. My homesickness is the most common and the softest one in my heart.
Hometown, you can't hide your mother's hard work. My mother is an invincible flower for me all my life. Mom is beautiful. I still remember what she looked like when she was young: her long black hair was curled up, and in her gentle eyes, it seemed that children could feel the kind feelings unique to being a rural woman with beautiful scenery.
Mother is the most beautiful wild flower on the river bank. Bright eyes, red lips and white teeth. Abba is a small river that bypasses wild flowers in the mountains. The river flows slowly, and the soft and clear voice seems to whisper to grandma. The water moistens the flowers, and the flowers kiss the dew of the river. Flowers, like the river passing by, spread the pollen of love in the drizzle of spring. Therefore, every year, there are many flowers beside the wildflowers.
Mother is a flower, blooming in fertile land. Mother, in every season, dedicates herself to this land she loves. Spring ploughing, summer irrigation, autumn harvest and winter storage. Every step is inseparable from the mother's skillful hand. Mother has been giving birth to children all her life. For us, she devoted her best years to the whole family.
Those pairs of sandals with soles, patched clothes, soft quilts, bowls of delicious sauerkraut rice porridge, the sickle that cut my mother's wide cocoon hand, the wooden barrel that only carried more than 100 kilograms of river water, the two-story humble house built with cow dung, the window grilles that were bent into beautiful pictures by scissors, and the splendid Jiangnan with embroidery patterns have always been my unforgettable complex.
Homesickness cards record the names of brothers and sisters; Record every picture of our work and play; Recording the rising sun, my mother has begun to be busy; Recording mother's smile and every move, mother taught us imperceptibly by words and deeds; It records the days when I got up in the middle of the night, carried my brother, crossed a small stone bridge with flowers and fragrance, and walked cautiously and quickly to the classroom more than ten miles away; It records my leisure time when I was holding a book, herding cattle, fascinated by reading, and Le Er forgot to return; Record the vigorous posture of Third Sister swimming in the river, like a small fish in the river, swimming from one river hole to another; Record dad's happy mood every time he sits on the river bank and fishes quietly and comes home with a full load; Recording the smoke of every household, urging to speed up the pace of going home before it is dark; Recording the spring, the continuous drizzle, the moist things are silent, and those green vegetable seedlings are neatly inserted in the loose soil; It records that in summer, people remove weeds and pests for half-height wheat ears; Recording the autumn, a large paddy field, an old and simple harvester, issued? Boom, boom? The sound soon separated the ears of wheat from the branches, and the farmers were smiling and sweet. It records that in winter, the whole family is happy and wrapped in jiaozi, which can only be eaten on New Year's Eve. A family, talking and laughing. Spring Festival couplets on the threshold symbolize a bumper harvest and peace in the coming year; Outside the house, firecrackers exploded, thunder rumbled, thunder rumbled, thunder rumbled, thunder rumbled, thunder rumbled.
Homesickness always stumbles every bit of my hometown, every grass, tree and person. When I was young, I left my hometown and studied hard in the city. I just want to change the poverty and backwardness of my hometown with technology and knowledge after I finish my studies. However, unexpectedly, it is a lifetime; After that, I actually dedicated my youth to this city that I am familiar with and unfamiliar with now. The city has developed too fast, and now its hair is gray, but it is hard to tell the complicated routes of all cities.
Homesickness, why do you always torture me? The death of my parents made my heart ache. Every time I go to Tomb-Sweeping Day, I go back to my hometown by the river, where there is no grass or flowers, and I kneel at your parents' grave and cry bitterly. Shout? Mom? , let me know? Dad? Tears, as if to see ABBA smoking a hookah alone; I saw my grandmother tie my ponytail with a red rope.
Homesickness, why do you always pin my hopes on it? When I was worried about my children's future, I seemed to see my grandmother give a big basket of eggs from selling a pig to my teacher sincerely, hoping that the teacher could take care of me more. Grandma, that's very kind of you. Isn't your good intentions used by me to educate children? When my children are unfortunately ill and yell at me and fight, who should they tell their inner grievances to? I only think of my poor old grandmother, my dead old grandmother and my dear old grandmother. Only when I think of you, I feel that you are the only person closest to me, the best person to me, and the only grandmother in the world who has devoted her life to me.
Homesickness, you will always be a beautiful scenery I can't forget; You will always be my gentlest concern for my loved ones; You will always be the softest flower in my heart.
Prose about homesickness: the years are warm and enjoyable, and the reunion time is enjoyable.
The sky is vast and homesick. When Jusanskrit is singing in a low voice, does mother's forehead add white hair and new sorrow? Has the father's back been engraved with the wind and frost of the years? Taking the meeting as a memory, thinking as a pen, writing the breeze and bright moon, I only give this warmth to the chilly spring. The years are warm and happy, which is a good time for reunion.
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Time flies like silk, calm and quiet. In the time when horses passed by, the years at the fingertips were fragrant and beautiful, and the veil of deep winter was happily unveiled. Looking back on 20 14, this year, there have been sadness and joy, and more is the warmth accompanied by relatives and the happiness accompanied by friends. These days, those polished years are shining, and they have experienced ups and downs in a search.
Zhu Ziqing said:? Swallows have gone, and there is a time to come again; Willow withered, there is a time to green again; The peach blossom has withered, but it has blossomed again. But, smart you tell me, why are our days gone forever?
Yu Guangzhong said: When I was a child, homesickness was a small stamp. I'm here and my mother is there. When I grow up, homesickness is a narrow ticket. I'm here and the bride is there. Later, homesickness became a temporary grave. I'm outside and my mother is inside. Now, homesickness is a shallow strait. I am here and the mainland is there. ?
Xi Murong said: The song of hometown is the flute of Qingyuan, which always rings with the moon at night. The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment, like a wave of farewell in the fog. After parting, homesickness is a tree without rings and will never grow old. ?
No matter which literati, there is a kind of pain when writing. Whether in the flowers or when you are alone, the ripples of homesickness are already growing, full of vitality and fragrance. Mother's nagging is full of love, but father's silence is full of silent love. The farmer's bagpipes, Niu Wa's flute, and his mother's watching from afar at the entrance to the village are always in silence, getting old and missing.
Tired birds return to their nests, and fallen leaves return to their roots. Wandering in the distance, come back on the silver-white train. Even if the mountains are heavy and the water is heavy, even if the smoke is misty, it is only a feeling of homesickness as soon as possible, but it has nothing to do with cold and heat, and it has nothing to do with sadness and joy. Only between mountains and rivers, picturesque and melodious. Wandering, set foot on the way home, listen to gossip lightly, write homesickness quietly, and write the most beautiful chapter with that charming miss.
How bright the moonlight is at home! They are relatives of their hometown. Walking through the mountains and rivers, no matter where the wanderer finds his hometown every year, the homesickness between his eyebrows is not diminished. Whenever the word "wild goose" comes back, the west wing is full of moon, or the lotus pond on Lu 'an, the emerald green of the distant mountains, and the bright line in the hearts of wanderers are still pulling the feelings of their hometown, swaying all the thoughts of the four seasons and vaguely calling with euphemistic voices.
Time is an ink painting frame. With the deepening of the unknown years, it has a strong local flavor and lasts forever. There are thousands of lamps in Qian Qian in this world, but it is not as good as an oil lamp in my hometown, because in the heart of a wanderer, that touch of local gaze and waiting can always bring a trace of warmth and comfort in a cold night. When the love for hometown is like a boat crossing the night and dawn in a foreign land, the hearts of wanderers will always be full of lingering attachment, warming their hearts and feelings.
Perhaps, in the hearts of wanderers, hometown is the tenderness of fishing boats singing late, the brightness of fleeting time, the dreamy swaying of Wupeng boat in Jiangnan water town, and the endless slap of storytellers in the old teahouse. As long as the wanderer is full of the tenderness of the evening breeze and the swaying of the moonlight, he can keep the local accent in his heart circuitous, mobilize the rhythm of happiness, and let his heart bloom warmly. Outside the dream, the wanderer's thoughts never stopped, and he trudged all the way back to his hometown, far and near. Whenever and wherever, wanderers will always meditate on their hometown in their hands. Times have changed, things have changed, and the nostalgia for my hometown will never fade.
Hometown is the most beautiful picture in the years. Whether it is the word "Fu" in front of Chai Fei, the local wine and special rice cakes beside the red mud stove, or the festive couplets hanging on that side, the flaming lanterns, the curling smoke and the soft clouds, all have a tired local flavor. Because of my hometown, the wind is soft, and because of my hometown, my feelings are warm. Because of my hometown, flowers bloom like brocade, and because of my hometown, leaves fall like poetry.
Yu Mei Thoreau, a famous writer, once wrote a passage: Only when you are far away from your hometown can you understand that the crowing of chickens, barking of dogs, frogs and cicadas in your hometown are all songs. Only when you are far away from your hometown can you understand that every mountain, stone, grass and tree in your hometown, people and things are feelings. Leaving home, the wanderer realized that his mother's nagging was full of warm feelings, and his father's silence was full of silent love. Being far away from home, Youzi realized that no matter whether my hometown is full of high-rise buildings or Ma Pingchuan, my hometown will always be the most beautiful original scenery in my heart. Only when I am far away from my hometown do I understand that even if the whole world abandons me, my hometown will still wait for my return. ?
Yes, now, approaching my village and meeting people, I am speechless, but my tears have faded. Hometown wanderer, come back, come back. There are good blind dates, delicious dishes, familiar playmates and an old mother who is lovingly repaired. For the wanderer, hometown is a word that can't be filled out, a song that can't be sung, fragrant in the splash of ink, secretly arousing this affection and calling the wanderer back in the willow bagpipes.
Listen, in the sound of the willow bagpipes, whether the steps of the wanderer are getting closer and closer. Taking the meeting as a memory, thinking as a pen, writing the breeze and bright moon, I only give this warmth to the chilly spring. The years are warm and happy, which is a good time for reunion.
Prose of Missing Hometown: Songs of Hometown
The wind in my hometown gently caressed the branches, and osmanthus was scattered all over the floor. Sweet-scented osmanthus is floating in every corner of the village, lingering over the tile house of Zhibi.
The crowing of chickens broke the quiet morning light in my hometown, and the village was shrouded in layers of fog, which had a hazy beauty; Black chimneys are full of aura, and the smell of cooking smoke permeates the mountains and rivers of my hometown. I don't know which good woman makes a fire and cooks for my family at the dawn of victory. The crystal-clear dew in the morning is as bright as a white mirror in the dim sunlight, reflecting the faces of hardworking Iraqis.
In the fields of my hometown, golden wheat waves, small insects flapping their wings wandering in the endless fields, birds hovering in the blue sky singing harvest songs and enjoying the golden autumn. In the harvest season, the farmer's uncle wears a straw hat and harvests silently in the scorching sun. Ruthless sunshine changed their skin from dark yellow to bronze, but it created their strong backbone. There are kites flying on the mountains in my hometown, white clouds floating and the light blue sky, which I miss very much.
In the fields of my hometown, there are children chasing each other, running freely with the wind, playing hide-and-seek in the vast golden sea of wheat, and catching chickens with eagles on the vast grassland; After harvesting, the farmer's uncle weaves a lovely scarecrow with yellow wheat and straw; Sparrows fly around in the fields looking for rice. Naughty children chase hungry sparrows and play in the fields of their hometown.
In the evening of my hometown, the red flaming clouds reflect the small village, and the afterglow of the sunset illuminates the fisherman's way home on the river. The night in my hometown is very quiet, so quiet that I can hear insects chirping; The night in my hometown is beautiful. There is a full moon hanging in the night sky, and the bright moonlight is scattered on the tiles of the roof, just like the moonlight castle where the immortals live in fairy tales, emitting holy light, which makes this beautiful village shine with quiet and peaceful Bai Yueguang.
When I left my hometown with longing, bid farewell to the hot land where I was born and raised, and came to the noisy neon city, looking forward to my shining starry sky. But I don't know why every lonely night, I will think of my hometown life; Think about the people I love. When I miss them, will they miss me at the dim window? Whenever I am alone in the dead of night, looking at my hometown at the end of the day, I will sing songs and think of people in my hometown.
What I miss is the warmth of my hometown under the light, which is the greatest warmth in my life. I don't know whether it started from ignorance or when, but my grandmother has been with me. When I was a child, I fell asleep in comfort with grandma's lullaby. In the season of osmanthus, grandma will shake osmanthus with me and make me a sweet Osmanthus Jelly. That sweetness will stay in my mouth for life. Grandma mended my torn clothes by candlelight. Through candlelight, the power of time has changed grandma's clothes. Deep sunken eyes, wrinkled face, bent and stumbled. I secretly counted the white hair on my grandmother's head by candlelight, and inadvertently dropped a puzzling tear.
Warm in the light, grandma in the candlelight; You are my concern, and you are the light on my way forward. No matter whether the road ahead is full of thorns or a mirage, I will take your love through bleak autumn, biting winter and unbeaten spring.
Maybe you will still think of the floating clouds in your hometown in a daze, maybe you will sing the warm south mud bend in your hometown after being hurt by betrayal, or maybe you will want to return to your hometown after dusk. No matter how far we go, how brilliant we are, we are like a kite string tightly held in the heavy hands of our hometown, and we will never wander in a foreign land and escape from this world.
When our shoulders bear the unbearable weight of life, please don't be afraid of confusion, please don't put down your bags on your shoulders, look at the lights in front and move on. No matter how many turning points you have to pass in the future, please don't forget the way home.
I want to put everything in my hometown in my pocket so that I can feel the warmth of my hometown all the time. I never care about the so-called happiness in the eyes of others. I just want to protect the brick houses in my hometown, which carry my memories. There are rainbows that I painted on the wall, kites that I flew as a child, paper airplanes that I folded on my desk, and phonographs that my grandmother listened to flowers, dreams, fairy tales and warmth. Singing the songs of hometown, speaking the words of hometown, dreaming the dreams of hometown, embracing the sunny days of hometown, thinking of relatives in hometown, and crossing our hands to bless our hometown.
My hometown is a song that warms my chest. The songs in my hometown are pure as water, passionate as fire, brilliant as flowers, resounding through the sky and warming my dreams.