After a heavy rain, the sky was gray and gray, and dampness filled the air. Two swallows came seeking, regardless of the appearance, flew straight into the door of the house, circled for a while, and then landed on the beam of my house, where they left the first mouth of mud that they articulated. The following is to share with you the information of life memoir prose essays, provide reference, welcome to your reading.
Life Memoir Prose Essay Essay I
My grandfather was still alive when the swallows built their nest on the beam of my house.
The house is a half-brick, half-billet tiled house, divided into three rooms, with a long table and a worn table in the center, as well as two old-fashioned Ming-style tutor's chairs. My mother and I lived in the west room, and my grandfather and grandmother's room was on the east side, separated from the hall by a foil. The layout of the two rooms was basically similar, except for a big old-fashioned bed, there was a grain hoard circled with broomcorn foil, and around the hoard were placed some large and small coarse porcelain jars, containing some messy grains. The difference is that my mother and I have a large poster on the north wall of the west room, which is a woman with short, black, greasy, ear-to-ear hair, a spirited look, a very bright smile. The south wall of the window sill placed under a large production brand sewing machine, free time, the mother often sat in front of the sewing machine smack smack smack? She used to sit in front of the sewing machine smacking her lips and doing all kinds of needlework. God knows why there were so many endless jobs, and my mother's dexterity spread to thousands of families in the village with the sound of the machine smacking. The sound of the smack-smack machine spread to thousands of homes in the village. And Grandpa and Grandma's room is usually dark, dull and boring, but a good place to hide.
I don't know when the house was built, but it was already very old when I was born, and the beams and window panes were dark and dusty. That year, when the swallows built their nests on the beams of our house, there was a striking piece of brown color on the black beams, like half a bowl, as if the whole house was much brighter all of a sudden.
It was supposed to be summer, and the pit ponds in front of and behind the village were filled with bright white water. After a heavy rain, the sky was gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray, gray. Two swallows came in search of the house, regardless of the appearance, flew straight into the door, circled for a while, and landed on the beam of my house, where they left the first mouth of mud. Since then many days, the swallows have become a regular visitor to our home, chirping, circling flying in and out, busy, a look like no one else and familiar with the look of no formalities. In a matter of two days, there was a swallow's nest on the dark beams of the house.
I asked my grandfather why the swallows made a nest in our house.
My grandfather smiled and said, "Swallows know people, and they look for good families to make their nests.
I said, "How do the swallows know that our family is good?
I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new product.
Grandpa said, "Swallows fly around the village every day, and they know what's going on.
This is the first time I've ever seen a woman in the world who has been in the world for a long time.
I asked again, "What?
It's a good thing that I'm not a big fan of this.
My grandfather said, the old swallows want to give birth to young swallows, there must be a nest ah.
At that time, I just went to elementary school in the village, and the first thing I did every day when I came home from school was to see what had changed in the swallow's nest. The first thing I did when I came home from school was to see what had happened to the swallows' nests, and I had an inexplicable hope that the swallows would give birth to children. What will their children look like?
Suddenly, one morning, I almost forgot about it. When I woke up in the morning, I heard an incredibly refreshing bird call, the kind of thin and sharp, as if the ground has just grown out of the shoots like sound. So unreal, like it came from a dream. I opened my eyes and followed the sound? Alas, the dark beams, the semi-circular swallow nest, actually stretched out four furry little head, pointed mouth open, open to how big and how big, there is a circle of light yellow color around the mouth, as if just finished drinking millet rice did not wipe clean like. The sound is so beautiful, so it is from them.
I got up from the bed, jumped out of bed, and rushed to the yard, shouting, "Grandpa, grandpa, you come to see, come to see, the little swallow was born, and screamed there.
Grandpa sat in the yard under the neem tree and smoked his dry pipe, smiling and said, "I heard it, I heard it, it's better than singing.
I said, "Grandpa, where are the two old swallows?
I said, "Where are the two old swallows?
The first is that the two swallows are not in the same place, but they are in the same place as the other swallows.
The old swallows went to get food for the young ones, and they are busy with the baby.
I said, "I don't want to see all the swallows fly away when they grow up," he said.
Grandpa looked at the sky and said, "I'm sure they'll fly away when their wings get hard.
They said, "The sky and the earth are so big that they are called to fly until one day when they are tired of flying, they will find a home again and give birth to their own children.
I was very disappointed, alas, it is still going to go, if only never. I don't want them to fly away.
Grandpa smiled and said, "How can that be? The first thing you need to do is to move around. The first thing you need to do is to stay in the nest for the rest of your life, and you'll have to fly when your wings get hard.
I was disappointed for a while and felt empty.
Autumn came, when the leaves on the branches of the tree fell all over the yard, the old swallow really took the little swallow flew away, and never came back. A semi-circular bird's nest was left on the dark beams, empty and silent, like a dark brown scar left in my heart.
It wasn't long before my family moved to Pingdingshan.
Life story prose essay essay two
Mention Li Renqing, I will always appear in front of my eyes a figure of upright, majestic youth image, he is really too handsome. There is a saying that people celebrate Lu Bu, horse in the red rabbit. It was probably a compliment to him. Although he has now reached middle age and his figure has inevitably started to get fat, this impression has never died out. With the flow of days and months and years of age, there are many times, I often alone will sigh sigh of light of the easy to pass, the years of hard to save, always feel that I have been full of vicissitudes of life, haggard and difficult to read the world's long and lonely, alone in pathos, the world's ups and downs, the world's coolness, a moment of all will be surging to the heart. Sigh of life, the fellowship is scattered, so far the remaining few? However, whenever I meet again with people celebrating, wine and joy, those past youthful years will be like the spring winds like hooting and hollering came to the face, still refreshingly assaulting people, so that we are happy at that moment Tao tauan forget their own age, and can not help but give birth to a kind of old man chatting about the sentiment of the teenage madness, as if everything is back to the old days.
I met Li Renqing at the time when he was in the prime of life, between the mountains and the beautiful water. I think about the time of Gongjin, Xiao Qiao first married. We met in the countryside, acquaintance in the grass canopy, wine invitation to the moon, the shadow into three people. The first time I saw you, I was so happy to see you, and I'm so happy to see you. In order to a *** with the same hobby, sympathize with each other, indulge in ink, with the analysis, love and affection, known as the pleasure of life. Occasional leisure, often walking with walking cliffs and streams, lakeside grass, climbing the distance, pointing out the mountains and rivers, swinging the chest of the clouds, canthus into the return of the bird, the forest side of the long whistle, the stream poetry, wash tasseled Maundy feet, bathe in the wind and pectus, sincere a world of fast!
Li Renqing was born in Henan Province, Lushan County, four tree township, where the western Henan Fuyu Mountain area is famous for its scenic beauty, verdant mountains, ancient temples Sen Sen, sunrise and sunset, Zhongling Yuxiu, in this piece of water, the characters born out of the natural birth of a natural spirit, can not wait to see it. Therefore, the human Qing's jade tree and Yingqi is more than ordinary. At first sight, envy is born, talent and meet, embroidery full of eyes, poetry and song, chanting and singing, since it is a horse to wait for. Such talent, if born in the Spring and Autumn season, between the North and South, that is Song Yu, Pan An style of flow, attracting neighbors to peep at the wall, inviting women to throw the fruit, all in reason.
Recently, the people of Qingtai love, will condense his years of hard work in the collection of essays, "the warmth of the sunshine of the soul" presented in front of me. I've been reading these words again, and my thoughts have been wandering around my hometown with the words of the people who are celebrating, and my soul is returning to my hometown. Our hometown is the place where we grow up, and it is also the place where our emotions reside. In Li Renqing's prose, the life of the hometown and childhood memories, especially the performance of the fresh and beautiful, the most vivid.
? I was born in a small village in the mountains at the eastern foot of the Furniu Mountains. It was a place with beautiful scenery. High and low rolling hills stretching around the village, a practice belt like a small river mercifully nestled in the village. People in my hometown are proud to say: every mountain and every ditch here is a painting, enough for you to see for half a day. But my hometown in my childhood memories left behind, in addition to the green mountains and beautiful water, there is only poverty and backwardness. But it is in this kind of scenery, I enjoy the great love of mankind, the true love of mankind, when I stepped on the hometown of the path, drink the hometown of the mountain spring water, spent the childhood, after walking through the teenager, I like to get into the literature, and with a piece of childish and clumsy words to record the unforgettable memories of the past, as well as those who continue to occur in the good, with not too beautiful writing recalling the hometown of the grass, a tree, a eulogy for the hometown. The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty.
I think this should be the original motivation for people to enjoy literature.
Prose is a dynamic style of writing, within a square inch, the expression of feelings, thoughts of the distant, vibrating the long wind and whistling mountains and forests, after the ancient and caressing the eight, often the shape of the scattered God has not been, the text is endless, so to write a good prose and is not an easy thing to do. Li Renqing's prose, in writing to his hometown landscape, there is always a full of passion, where a grass, a tree, a ditch, are hosting his hometown's love and affection, where the mountains and waters have his most intense and pure love and attachment.
? Into the depths of the mountains, Yihong fast green mountains and mountains like surging, showing you is lush, pale, gnarled coiled wrong, covering the sky nearly primitive natural scenery. Rhododendron in full bloom, called the name of the flowers, grass from time to time to scramble for the camera, sentimental birds sometimes cheering, sometimes whispering a few times, and the foot of the spring, beside the waterfall, suspected of being in fairyland. Mountain wind blowing, ten thousand branches shaking, huffing and puffing like thunder rolled through, like waves surging; red sunshine, shade ramp, impermeable, occasionally see the sunlight dappled, such as the star flickering; mist came, the vast mountains hidden, like being in a mirage? Walking casually in the mountains, you will find that the forest in the stone, stone side of the bamboo, bamboo under the flowers, flowers in the wild bees, colorful butterflies flying, natural interest, interesting, and a share of the refreshing lungs of the aroma of the entire depression excited by the living and the spirit of flying.
The mountain is long, on more waterfalls. Near the village of large and small waterfalls are countless, different forms, each with its own flavor. Or flying straight down, loud as thunder; or flying beads splash jade, if the piano if the drum; or beautiful and quiet, such as the rain hit the mountains? Not to be there, you can hardly imagine its stunning beauty, not to be there, you are more difficult to appreciate? Flowing straight down three thousand feet, suspected that the Milky Way fell nine days? The magnificent momentum. That a waterfall is a mountain stream convergence of a cavity of the wild, in the valley to find their own life of sadness and splendor, they are in the unrelenting pursuit of the unknowing air framed into a beautiful landscape.
Mr. Wang Zengqi once said that the essence of literature is a kind of memory. For a person who is used to expressing his emotions with words, those people and things that have been precipitated in the passage of time are often the most touching and unforgettable. Therefore, the hometown and childhood, become most people sing endless eternal theme. Hometown and childhood, that is the first scene we initially came to this world to recognize, that is also our lifetime can not go out of a piece of spiritual home. The significance of the hometown for the traveler is not in fact the beauty of the landscape, more so that we can not forget the original attachment to the family and perception, buried deep in the memory of the good things of the deep favor.
In Li Renqing's collection of essays, such chapters abound, whether it is to write about his father, mother, or write about his grandmother, brother, and neighbors in the countryside, he has poured his deepest and strongest love, but in the performance of the text is calm and unhurried, the loop back and forth, and narrated, often starting from the details of the ordinary life, pulling out the cocoon, spreading, so that we unknowingly touched by this true love of man. The first time I saw this, I was able to see it in the back of my mind.
? At that time, the family was poor, not even an alarm clock. I live in a house with my grandmother, so that every morning to wake me up on the task of early self-study, also fell on the grandmother. Grandma was usually very punctual, and I never knew how she calculated the time. Until one day, Grandma remembered the wrong time, and from then on, I really read Grandma, and was y touched. It was a cold winter, one morning, I was asleep by my grandmother woke up in a panic, grandma was anxious and uneasy: get up, it's all my fault, I fell asleep, it's morning, sure to be late? I rubbed my eyes to see that it was really dawn outside the window, hurriedly dressed and got up, ran all the way to the school, but found that the door was closed, not even a shadow of a person. I don't know how long it took me to hear the school clock striking three times rhythmically, looking up at the sky, a full moon so bright, so bright, like a mirror. I blame Grandma! I was complaining in my heart about my grandmother who remembered the wrong time, while I folded back home again and fell asleep, and as a result, I really slept too much this time.
Eat breakfast, Grandma asked me to be criticized without, I was unhappy, told Grandma that in the school was criticized. Grandma looked guilty: it's all my fault, it's all my fault, how can I remember it wrong? Every day I looked at the moon and counted the rooster's crows to call you. For a moment, I was frozen, I went to junior high school these days, grandma never slept peacefully, she was always listening to the rooster crowing and according to the moon's change, calculating the time I went to school! That day the sick grandmother remembered to go to school me, in a trance mistaken for the moonlight outside the window? Tears blurred my eyes. That day, I pestered my father to buy me the first alarm clock in our house.
The author is precisely through the capture of life in such a small detail, the best interpretation of the love of grandma to the extreme, seemingly ordinary the most bizarre. This kind of prose, small in the big, elegant fragrance, fresh and natural, not decorative carving, should be said to be a very high realm of prose. In fact, good prose does not need too gorgeous rhetoric, too deliberately carved, too beautiful language, as long as it is from our heart the most sincere expression of emotion, naturally swaying, become a bright landscape in our life.
I remember a western writer said, customs have a deepest national emotion embodiment. In Li Renqing's prose, the hometown style of folklore in detail and depiction, is also very moving, that the same flow of the author of a deep love. Years like water, years like a shuttle, when we are in the real life in a hurry to run around and have no time to care about him, in fact, we have lost too much of the good. Sometimes quiet mind, think about the past, those who once happened around us do not notice some people and things, will let us stay again and again sighed.
? The dumplings in my hometown are wrapped in mistletoe leaves, and the wrapped dumplings are called mistletoe drops. I don't know if there is any other name for the mistletoe leaves, I only know that the flavor of the dumplings wrapped in mistletoe leaves is particularly good, with a strange fragrance. Every year before the Dragon Boat Festival, the mountain is already full of people picking mistletoe leaves. At that time on the mountain, it is the green wantonly declared emotions, everywhere green and verdant, the flavor of a thousand. The mistletoe leaves were first boiled in a pot, then soaked in water, and finally the boiled mistletoe leaves were put in a bamboo basket. To the clear river next to the village, in the water randomly pull a few stones piled up into a pool to put the mistletoe leaves, and then bare feet, sitting on a stone to the two leaves face to face to stick together with the hand gently grinding, grinding away the page on the hair, so that it is smooth, so that the package out of the rice dumplings will not be sticky on the top. The sky overhead is blue, a few floating clouds white, crystal clear. The water in the river is clear and transparent, murmuring and flowing, a few small fish swim around, and from time to time probe and peck the leaves of the mistletoe leaves, or pecked on our footboard, that is what a wonderful enjoyment ah, and to this day, remember, but also make people fascinated.
While grinding the mistletoe leaves, my mother had already soaked the glutinous rice and red dates. The soaked rice was placed in a large basin, and when wrapping the dumplings, two mistletoe leaves were stacked on top of each other in a staggered pattern, and a handful of glutinous rice was placed in the middle of the mistletoe leaves, and then two jujubes were placed on top of each other and folded over each other, and then boiled straw or a kind of grass called "goat's beard grass" was used to make the rice dumplings. Then put two red dates on it, fold it over each other a few times, and tie it up with boiled straw or something called "goat's beard grass. The thing gently tied up, a dumpling is wrapped. Packed rice dumplings in the pot to cook, soon, a mixture of mistletoe leaves and glutinous rice fragrance of the smell will spread, refreshing, let a person mouth watering.
? Who's jade flute dark flying sound, scattered into the spring breeze full of Luo Cheng. This night, the song heard the willow, who can not afford the love of the old garden. Since ancient times, nostalgia is always a kind of lingering emotion, tugging and tripping, throughout our lives. Therefore, the words about nostalgia, the history of the book, sung to this day, is often the most touching words. What is nostalgia? The Taiwanese poet Yu Guangzhong said that nostalgia is a small stamp, a shallow river, a kind of affectionate look away. In fact, nostalgia is a cup of wine that we can't drink all the time in our life, in which sweet and sour, bitter and spicy, and a hundred kinds of flavors can only be y appreciated by faraway travelers. In reading Li Renqing's essays, I once again y appreciate the taste of this nostalgia wine, sweet and mellow, long aftertaste, reading such words, I was unconsciously intoxicated, smoky, fluttering, indistinct, as if with Li Renqing's footsteps into the depths of the mountains, into the mountain people's houses, into those seasons of youth loss.
Renqing, you let me drunk again.
In recent years, the flavor of the day, the heart of the matter is sparse, away from the red dust, as if nothing can interest. This is about the reason why the old age is approaching. Suddenly one day, in the cold wind, I received a text message from the netizen Hundred Flowers in Bloom, saying that I want to hold the third? Eagle City Supplement? Netizen gathering, in a trance, if there is a spring breeze attacked on the heart, felt warm and melting, touched, I can not help but sigh, this hundred flowers, or so enthusiastic, how it seems to always live in the spring.
Thinking about those sunny days in the beginning, it seems that the heart is still surging with some unsleeping ambition of flat life. I met with the lazy sun Chan Chan Fai and Hundred Flowers two people not long ago, by coincidence, in a small gathering of ordinary friends, acquaintance with the river network of sea level moderators, laughing and joking in the midst of the brewing of the birth of the river on the net? Eagle City Supplement? Forum, from now on, attracted countless talented people from all corners of the world, the United States, the wind and clouds, spring Xia Mingming, fiber clouds such as a dream, the rain crescent white, autumn cold spring deep, from now on we have a network of love, love and affection, a gathering again and again, loving and inseparable, and stretched to the present day.
The years are barren, blossoming and falling. I have not done? The Eagle City Supplement? The moderator for many years, the peach blossom view of flowers, all of which are planted after Liu Lang went. Sometimes look at the words of those who come after, ashamed of themselves, in vain, adding the sigh of spring water. I'm not sure what I'm talking about, but it's a dream, and I'm getting older as the years go by. But this is obviously just for me personally. In this gathering, I am pleased to see, whether it is the flowers, sea level, sunshine, east child, nothing to wash the heart, or the rain bell, dream, autumn, whisking the moon, the little black dress, but still style is still the same, full of flowers, the green mountain does not change, the green water flows, from them, you can hardly find traces of the passing of the years, is still the wind and the moon, spring, orchids, autumn and chrysanthemums, is still the peach of the young, the scorching of its splendor. It's a good view of the south of the Yangtze River, the time of falling flowers and then meet the gentleman. Into which, in a trance, I seem to be sitting back in those years of the past, the earth back to spring, ten thousand trees compete in glory, wind and sunshine, grass color remote look. And at this moment I am like a plant in the cold wind trembling too long too long dead wood, suddenly like a spring breeze, thousands of trees and pear blossoms. In the joy and comfort also sprouted a little green. The feeling of happiness turns out to be so unexpected, and does not require us to do anything to prepare. Then, the larch, such as orchids, April, Phoenix, Qing Yue, to the Kui and so on those who have passed the figure, although they did not come today, must also be still jade trees, begonias still it. But I wish that people will be long, thousands of miles **** Canyuanjuan.
However, spring is too hasty, always in a flash, found your face, has been strange no longer like before. Out of the concert hall Alibaba that door of light and strange, a cold wind blew me back to the cold real world. Just as my youth, is withering, although it does not necessarily have how good, and ultimately gone. I am disappointed with my life, and I have no friends, so far, how many are left? The understanding Yu Ling kindly comforted me and said, "Mr. Du, you seem to have become younger today. I feel embarrassed, I can only look at the empty stand, said self-deprecatingly, Oh, is it now popular to praise people so?
When someone boasts that you are still young, it has actually proved that you are really old.
If one day, I quietly leave, please bury me in, buried in this spring? Walking alone on the silent and deserted streets, a burst of heartbreaking roar came from the air, echoing in my ears for a long time. Winter has come, then spring will be long?
?