Night is coming, the park is silent. I heard a rustling sound. I followed the sound and began to search for the source of the sound. By the sycamore tree, I finally detected a white shadow. Huh? Could there be someone else? I walked in full of questions, only to see that in the sycamore tree next to the creek there is a hand holding a net hook hunched old man, wearing an old shirt has been washed white, a pair of worn out canvas shoes, dark skin. At this time, he was holding a net hook in one hand and a sack in the river to salvage something.
Is he netting small goldfish in the river? Is he trying to net fish and steal them home? No, I have to see what's going on! With that thought, he meandered over to him and cats behind a tree. Staring at his every move.
Seeing him put the net into the water, gently stirring, very light very light, as if afraid of disturbing his baby. A moment later, the water floated up some plastic bags, there are banana peels, melon shells ... ... He netted them all, pulled ashore, sent into the sack. The same action is repeated again and again. There seemed to be no will to stop.
Unconsciously, the moon had climbed into the night sky. The night was crisp and cold, the moon revealed the tip of her brow, and the moonlight spilled over his body, only to see him begin to pant slightly, albeit very slightly, but it was still captured by me. Before long, the sack was two-thirds full of garbage, everything. The old man set the net aside. Pacing the river, he stared meticulously into it, as if gold would suddenly emerge from nowhere. He leaned close to the bank, cupped a handful of water in his hand, held it in front of his eyes, looked at it, and sniffed it, before he was satisfied and went for the sack. Then he lifted it and headed for the exit.
Under the moonlight, the hunched old man, the sack, the silver glow, the long path, seemed to melt into a landscape. Harmonious and quiet. The old man looked at the sacks, shook his head, turned and smiled, and moved on.
Oh, it is he quietly cleaned up the garbage in the water, so that tomorrow's beautiful park will again with a gorgeous show to the crowd. Tourists only know "Street Park" beautiful scenery, birds and flowers, mountains and water, and very warm, but do not know in the night there is an unknown beauty. The old man cleaned up the fishpond is also a landscape, in the moonlight bath more beautiful and touching. Because, his good deeds and forgetfulness is the most beautiful scenery in this park.
Jingling ...... "Another burst of noisy sound, opposite the school building, is a house under construction. The sound was coming from there.
Memory, since I walked into this school, this building has been under construction, and now, almost a year later, it has turned from the initial foundation into a semi-finished product that is almost completed.
Whether it's windy or rainy, the sound of "clanging bells" never stops, every day, every day, never stops. When I took a break from class, I could see through the window that the construction workers were working. Some are moving bricks, some are transporting mud, and some are laying houses ......
Never heard them complain about a "tired", a "bitter", but can often see that they would be I've never heard them complain about the work, but I can often see their sweaty lapels; I've never heard them complain about the danger of the work, but I can often see the scars on their hands.
They didn't go to enjoy the pink peach blossoms or the flying cherry blossoms in that spring season.
That sunny season, they didn't go to feel the shade of summer or the comfort of the beach.
That season of autumn winds, they didn't go to watch the passionate maple leaves or the warm sunset.
They didn't go to enjoy the flying snowflakes or the pure silence after the snow.
Because every day, they are in that unfinished building, concentrated on the work, never stopping ......
I looked through the window, opposite, or a working back; ears, or a burst of "jingle bells when the sound of the bells ".
Quite a few pleasant sound, hard laboring back, is a most beautiful landscape!
Life is not a lack of beautiful scenery, but a lack of eyes to discover the scenery.
This is beautiful, spectacular, when people stand in front of the Tiananmen Square, standing on the Great Wall of China will not be able to issue such praise. Standing in front of the natural scenery is not also so? But people ignore the scenery around us. Ginkgo trees on both sides of the highway, in the fall to change into yellow, in the spring in green, that is not beautiful? The highway is swept clean, after the rain, rainwater in the ground can be reflected in the people, that is not beautiful? When it rains, people put out umbrellas, red. Yellow. Green ...... It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?
I think the most beautiful scenery is the people's smiling face, ask, if you stand on the Great Wall, others are cold eyes look at you, you will issue such a sigh of approval? No way!
Laughter, divided into many kinds, there are ridicule, ridicule, smile, laugh, etc., my favorite is a smile. When you sit on the bus, an older person on the bus, when you get up to give him a seat, he will be grateful towards you smile, you will also return him a smile, this is not also a landscape
In a charity event, a mother holding her daughter to donate money, this time a hold fund-raising phase of the girl teased this little girl, said: small children, your mother came to donate money, and you also came to the money, you have money? " The little girl pulled out her pockets, wow cried, it turned out that she had no money. This cry can be the girl scared, how to coax can not be coaxed. At this time the little girl's mother spoke: don't cry, baby, there is no money, we donate a smile to the people in the disaster area." The little girl's crying stopped abruptly, she smiled, and everyone present smiled. Then the mother carried her away. To people's amazement the little girl would turn around and smile with every step, and that smile was pure and dazzling. Wasn't it a sight to behold in the eyes of those present?
We live everywhere in the scenery, perhaps you in the eyes of others is also a scenic route, there are many landscapes in the world, but people remember not much, as long as you are brave. The first thing you need to do is to get a good look at the scenery, and then you can see the scenery. Even if no one appreciates you, you are a beautiful landscape.
The scenery God! I don't know what kind of bad luck I've been dealt, just now it's still sunny and clear, now it's crackling with tears. Taking these books and running back to my faraway home, not only will the books be scrapped, but I will also have to go to the doctor. However, I really don't want to stay in this bookstore, which is as cold as a freezer, for one more minute. From the time I walked into the bookstore, to pick up a book, only about ten minutes, the fat lady will be twisting her waist next to me. Who told me I wasn't wearing a name tag! She ruthlessly snatched the book in my hands, threw over a look of contempt and blank stares, I was on fire, clearly a dog's eyes, I really do not want to be looked down by her, swept off a few books from the bookshelf, walked over to her, and threw it heavily onto the desktop. I looked at that hateful face again, and actually squeezed out a smile that was incredibly relatable. People, all of them? Looking at the misty world in front of me, I rushed in, and if I didn't leave, I was going to explode! On the way home, I had to pass through the market, which was crowded with people, and the rain was falling more and more rapidly. At this point, I was almost soaked to the skin, and the books were even more miserably damaged by the rain. I ran desperately, my eyes were hit by the rain, almost can not open, where is the road in front of me? I don't know, like a headless fly bumping around. Suddenly, the rain seemed to stop. I wiped the rain off my face and murmured, "Alright, the rain has finally stopped." But when I turned my head, I realized that I was wrong - I was hiding under someone else's umbrella, and the one holding the umbrella was a kindly-looking grandmother. She smiled at me. But the smile couldn't dispel my embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." I was busy walking away. Although I don't know much about the world, my eyes tell me that selfishness is human nature. That fat lady taught me that lesson. I made my way through the crowd. Soon, that umbrella surprisingly floated over me again. Always smiling, the grandmother's satchel of vegetable blues pointed to my shirt and then to her umbrella. My heart warmed, I smiled at her and said, "Thank you!" She held her umbrella and I ducked under hers, leaving the bustling market together. At this point, I was in the bookstore by the anger all disappeared, surging to the heart, is a sheepish warmth. In the rain, under the umbrella, in my heart, is an eternal landscape. The world, originally so beautiful!