Essay: <<My hometown of _____>>

I remember when I was a child writing my hometown,<my hometown,> with their own imagination, the hometown described a very beautiful and charming, blue sky, green grass, red flowers, yellow fruit, mountain clear, water Bibi, wells on the grapevine, the river willow into rows, the spring flowers full of trees, the autumn fruit fragrance, like an idyllic landscape paintings, fantasizing that the hometown is so beautiful, so full of poetic. I used to be so eager to go back to my hometown.

In the spring of this year, we went to our hometown's County Martyrs' Cemetery to visit our grandpa's grave, and we had the opportunity to go back to our hometown. At that time, we were very excited, really want to go quickly to see what our hometown is like. We really wanted to see what our hometown was like, what our folks were like, and what our hometown was like. Around the county, ten thousand acres of pear blossoms bloomed like a white sea, the aroma of the people, I think our hometown must also be very beautiful. With good hope we drove on the road.

Walking, suddenly a stench came, we quickly closed the windows, carefully look out, God, on both sides of the highway are piles of rags, a glance can not be seen, as if the country's rags are concentrated here, so we are in the heap of rags in the stench in the smoky, in the potholes on the highway, bumpy road to the hometown we have longed for, into the village, we have been in the village, we have been in the village, we have been in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village, we are in the village. As we looked around, there were no flat streets, no brand-new houses, no red flowers, green grass, fresh air, he was surrounded by rags, the stench filled the air, a backward and desolate scene. In a cousin's lead, we came to our former residence, the father often mentioned the hundred years old building has been dilapidated, full of garbage, grandfather's former residence monument surrounded by weeds, trees, and even take a picture can not be taken, standing in front of the old building, we thought a lot, this is where our ancestors live and live, there is a kind of indescribable feelings. No one in the village know us, see us come, are curious to see the hustle and bustle, in the cousin's introduction, the villagers know who we are, everyone gathered in front of our car to ask this and that, which makes us feel a touch of hometown affection. Because the day is already late, we have to rush, we hurriedly bid farewell to the folks embarked on the return trip.

Sitting in the car, a long time, we did not speak, the complexity of the mood is difficult to describe, is disappointed? The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and you'll be able to do it. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty. Is regret? I can not say. But the trip to our hometown did leave a deep impression on us. I suddenly remembered that year my father wrote a song back to my hometown: "I have been uprooted from my hometown for 50 years, the desolate is my home, after the bee picks a hundred flowers into honey, for whom it is hard and for whom it is sweet." I looked back at the twilight of my hometown, silently said, goodbye, my hometown, I will not forget you, although you are not so good. I hope that the next time we come to visit you, after bathing in the harmonious spring breeze of reform and opening up, you will appear in front of us with a brand-new scene, so that we can be proud of you and proud of you.

Wish to adopt

Thanks