Prose has been known as the "beauty of the text", it is in addition to spiritual insights, beautiful mood, there is a fresh and timeless, simple and unadorned elegance. The following is what I organized to write the rain beautiful prose, take a look together.
Beautiful prose about rain 1Tired, I turned my head to look at the sky outside, the endless sky, the clouds playing with each other, so beautiful. But I turned my head to see a gloomy sky, a large dark cloud covered the earth, I know the rain is coming again.
When the rain came, I had a lot of bitterness built up in my heart, I couldn't go out to play, I couldn't lose my umbrella, and it would make my clothes dirty. When I had no choice, I moved a chair and sat in front of the window, looking at the dripping rain outside.
Looking at the raindrops falling down, I suddenly had the urge to get wet, I discussed with my mom, but still could not get her consent. The rain fell even harder.
"Whatever, scolding is scolding, nagging is nagging, charge!" Accompanied by shouts I came to the yard. The rain hit my face, clothes, hands, some cold, but I still do not want to go home.
I was still spinning, jumping, running, and wishing more than anything that there was someone to dance with me in the rain, but I knew there was no one at home who would. I twist my face and see an umbrella, I take it, control it, and dance with it in the rain***.
The umbrella opened and my heart seemed to open. In such a beautiful world, who would reject it and dislike it. Gradually, the rain became smaller, and the flavor of the sun. That kind of sunshine under the drizzle of the situation is really very interesting, but, compared to just now, but less a passion and vigor.
I closed my umbrella and returned home, all wet and sneezing. I knew I had a cold. I changed my clothes, wrapped in the quilt, my mother brought me ginger soup, and usually and I can fight mouth lawsuit brother this time even more objects of ridicule. Now I, in the face of his cynicism, I have been unable to resist, because I do not really have a reasonable explanation, all from "I like".
After the daytime so a mess, the night I have no one to take care of. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but I'm sure it's a good idea. In the rain, no parents nagging, no teacher's dissatisfaction, no classmates ridicule, there is just a naked heart, just and the rain of a **** song, a heart to heart.
Happy and quiet rain, from the air down, drops in the wordless corrugated between, flowers and trees, rivers and lakes above, moisturize my heart, wash my heart.
Rain, I read you, fell in love with you.
Beautiful prose about the rain 2The night became very deep, the sky is cloudy, the clouds are dark, the moon early to hide in the cloudy sky to sleep. In the summer night, the mountain side is silent, the sky ink shadow printing, so that people can not see the way to come and go. The good thing is that the city is also decorated with lights everywhere, so that this dark night seems to be scattered and lively, without a sound of the wind, sweltering very hot. It is in the river square dancing, but also sweaty, not a trace of the river wind blowing on the shore. I have a feeling that in the near future, there will be a rainstorm.
As usual, the dance music is still playing, strong and wild, shaking the entire riverbank. The streetlights were dimly lit on the dance floor, and the happy people were leaping in the midst of the revelry like the pages of a painting, breaking the silence of the sultry night. There are many people walking along the river bank, but not get a little wind moisture, but out of a sweat, many people's clothes can be seen on the sweat of the wet traces. There were also many people standing by the river pool watching people dancing. Everyone constantly waving their hands fan fan, everyone is actually looking forward to a good rain, looking forward to a timely rain blowing away the earth's sultry heat, give people to relieve the summer heat.
Suddenly the night sky a lightning bolt, the wind instantly came, the wind swept up the ground dust, all of a sudden so that everyone can not open their eyes, followed by the bucket of rain came down, people running around, each back to his home, not lively, the human figure all of a sudden feel refreshed. Adults and children at a time as if the ghosts cry wolf ho that kind of shouting to find their children and loved ones. Only hear many motorcycles start the sound of panic, a street watertight vehicles more and more to see. A quarter of an hour later, if the large riverside plaza instantly no one shadow, the river pool, only the boss left to play dance music is too late to pack the stereo, in the night sky and rain Mu fled in a mess.
Beautiful prose about the rain 3A few days in a row, sleet and rain non-stop, quietly bring the season into March. I was born in March, favoring the rain in March has nothing to do with my birthdate, just like the rainy days, especially at night when the rain gives me a kind of intoxicated spirituality, worship rain can catalyze the dust in the cold winter.
On the wine table on the rain, rain is the reason for being late; card table said rain, rain is the reason to continue. Nowadays, people do not like the rain, hate the rain to bring inconvenience to people traveling, but also let the busy people feel bored, rambling about the rain in March affects people's lives, extinguished the enthusiasm of the stars and the moon. At this time, the umbrella is the closest companion of the people who hate the rain, it tops the head, arching the owner of the fashionable clothes, and from time to time with the wind and rain, showing a heart to take care of the owner of the moving posture.
I do not love to travel with an umbrella, even if it is a few days in a row of haze locking the river, as usual, I am excited to go across the river to meet friends. Last night when I raised a glass of wine, I did not feel the rain, when I wandered out of the lights of the building, in the cold wind and rain, sandwiched between three drunken walk under the sycamore tree, I seem to listen to the March rain. In my youthful memories, the sunshine of March is not calm, the rain of March is silky and continuous, her drift let me reverie endless, but also give me a sense of serenity. Nowadays, I can hear the raindrops ticking and pedestrian steps, umbrella demarcation of the rain and people's affinity, the only mist in the flow of headlights to appear dazzling beauty, highlighting the intoxicated urban culture, the lack of DaiWangShu holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long and lonesome rainy alleys. Umbrella is born because of the rain, how do I feel Dai Wangshu's oil-paper umbrella is different from today's umbrellas, it is in the people of the long drought when the rain held up, but also in the hope that the sunshine when held up, as if the umbrella's wonderful use is to hold up, and put away when waiting to hold up. This may be the contradiction of today's city people, want to experience the taste of rain and can not not hold an umbrella, want to bathe in the sun and have to hold an umbrella, this is how self-protection?
The rain in March is a song is a song, is this rain in March can only grunt in the mouth? The rain scene and the feeling of fine moist by the umbrella cover? Or the rain in March changed the season? I think it is not, is today's people did not feel the rain of interest, more fickle fashion. Feeling is to elongate the rhythm of time, the need is to read the feelings of the March rain, these seem to blame the person who made the umbrella. I like the rain, like the rain falling on the window edge splash, enjoy the sound of the rain is wonderful, more often than not is to enjoy a quiet and rain fun, enjoy is the rain washing dust, pure and clear the world of the heart. In the rain, I will remember the past, truly savor the Song Qin Guan words: since the flying flowers light like a dream, the boundless silk rain is as fine as the emotional world of sorrow.
In the rainy night of March, when I climbed the bridge by car, the river in front of me as if in the hazy drizzle bath, I felt the water even the sky of the rainy night of the beauty of the quiet, giving me a sense of empty contours. I think the rainy night in March is not in the lights and wine, red and green in the city, she needs to rain mingled, sparse lights and shadows to wet March. How warm and cold in March, the rain drifted drunkenly, I accompanied by a silky cold wind, and vaguely see the "Rainy Lane" in the color of lilacs, fragrance and sadness, and feel a kind of indifference, bleak and despondent, this is the most beautiful rainy night in March.
The rainy season of March, the cold of March, always makes me think of you.
Think of the time when I had a nightmare in the middle of the night and sent a message to you, and you replied in time with warm words.
I think of the only time we met, and I think of your eyes when you looked down in panic, and your eyes when you looked up cautiously.
Think of the countless warm words you have given me, instantly.
There are so many people who pass by, but I still recognize you.
Forgot how to meet you on, only remember that we are very chatty, we get along very well, but you occasionally made a poem I can not read.
I also remember the first time I received a phone call from you, you said how your voice would be so hard to hear, and in other people will not, and then I laughed at the silly, the nervous heart in your nervous tone of voice also became beating.
This is the first time I heard your voice, then I thought, I heard our future.
It was the first time I heard your voice, and at that time I thought that I heard our future. But I didn't know that when I couldn't understand the poems that you occasionally made, when you sent a silent sweaty expression every time you asked me about the meaning of your poems, when I stubbornly misrepresented the meanings of the poems, and when I was looking at myself as your closest and most knowledgeable confidant, I missed your hidden heart time and again and time and time again, I was farther and farther away from the love that would belong to us.
At that time, we are probably afraid. As the phrase like, always inadvertently be each other into a joke.
When you like me, I treat you as a brother. And when I realized I liked you, you treated me like a buddy.
These, suddenly like the past, filled my youth, but had to cut off. Some regret, but still celebrate. Although I lost the opportunity to go to love with your dearest ****, but for you can still be the most natural you in front of me and I can still be the most real me in front of you and happy.
In a flash, many years passed in our fight, and both you and I have walked on the road to maturity. Gradually, we all began to like to put words in the heart, the reality buried in the heart, so, I and you, naturally, words become less, contact also become less. But hopefully, even if we can't stop the pace of time, the friendship can be the same.
Finally, I am grateful to the dazzling you winged my youth. I am grateful to have met you.
Beautiful prose about the rain 5I think, in my past life, I may be the rain that fell on the sky, so this life will have such a thick lingering and love. Regardless of the spring, summer, fall and winter, where I am, I will be flooded with the slightest sorrow, drenching the mossy streets and alleys.
I like this extreme rain, often forget that the fading rain, bring the ghost and sadness, so all the way down, actually thin Tang poetry, wet Song lyrics.
In the haze of smoke and rain, I folded up a line of poetry, in the loneliness, to relieve their own damp mood. I want to ask, in that often dream, there is my thousand years of unchanging feelings?
The deep alleys of yesteryear, who came face to face with a tarpaulin umbrella. The rain is so heavy that it weaves a pearl curtain that covers the sky and the earth. Some people say that the reason why the rain is willing to fall, because it is in the sky, the umbrellas in full bloom, as a lotus flower.
In my childhood, my joy, like blooming flowers, opened all the way down the alley. That light gray gate, now I do not know where to go? And the smile of mom and dad and the warm care of my brother and sister, but stayed there forever.
A lifetime will never forget the name, Yangling town, forever engraved in my heart, towering in my memories. How I would like to find that again, for me once sheltered from the wind and rain of the tarpaulin umbrella, and walk again, has changed the appearance of the victory alley.
But it has been far away, and now it has become a strange `model. This is the time refuses to stop the silence, only the rain, will be in every moment to arouse it.
If I still have the chance now, hold up that yellow oilcloth umbrella, in the rain of the alley, walk tenderly through, there must be generous raindrops, wet my eyes, sliding across my face. And the drop of rain that fell on my palm must still look as wonderful as before.
But today, even if I, hold the rain, I can't hold that pain and sorrow. Along the lines of the palm, can I still see, heaven's mom and dad, lilac-like big sister, under the umbrella reluctant to look back, will see my former hometown? and my home in the alley?
I can never forget, in the alley, next to the big tree, mom's thin figure, kind face. In my school, in the brother and sister home on vacation, mom, she stood there, hand on the pergola, constantly looking, looking over the spring, summer, fall and winter, looking at the flowers thank you and yellow.
My tall and affectionate father, feet on a sewing machine, busy green under the lamp. Da da da! I'm not going to be able to do that! Cutting and making clothes for us. My father loved to laugh, his bright laughter, often infected us, causing us to laugh with him. At the moment as if to see his smile, reappeared on the face.
The beautiful and intelligent big sister, holding that little sweeper lump, said to me seriously; "Little sister, and then do not study well, big sister will beat you, believe it or not!" . I don't believe it, because my big sister is very good-tempered, never beat me. But I put on a kind of aggrieved, want to cry look, scared big sister hurriedly threw away the main sweeper lumps, hugged me and said; "not to beat! I don't want to fight! Little sister can be good, can know to study, big sister is to scare you." . I broke into tears, and the family laughed happily.
In the yard, my mother was sitting under a tree, quietly napping the soles of her shoes, also watching us do our homework. Dad is working outside, we go to school and work. Usually only mom is alone, waiting at home, she must be very lonely, so she is always standing in front of the door by the roadside, waiting and expecting us to come home.
But at that time, we were young and foolish, busy life for the father, but never thought of these. Until one day mom went away, the building is empty, we just came to our senses, we only regret it, complaining that they did not properly accompany the mother, to alleviate her loneliness.
Sometimes I think, if time can really rewind, how I wish she was an old lady, slowly walking slowly, I hope to let everything stop in the most beautiful moment.
A sunny afternoon, my brother and sister in the house writing homework, and I stood in the fresh air of the yard, looking up at the sky color clouds. My father was happily reclining in an old wicker chair, surrounded by a stone table and a purple teapot, and my mother was in and out of the kitchen, with a wisp of smoke curling up from the roof.
The black-and-white cat at home is napping on the windowsill. There is also the obedient dog called Tiger, squatting in the small yard, gently looking at everyone. In the yard, the piper betel flowers and moon flowers are in bloom, the white and red ones are very pretty. A breeze blew by, wafting a light fragrance.
The sound of pulling the bellows in the kitchen, rattled to a halt, the mother smiled faintly and brought out the meal, shouting the whole family to eat together. That tantalizing aroma of rice, still in the wind, floating.
The past is like smoke, like smoke in the past, let a person miss the scattered incense in the dream, who pulled who's little hand, walked through those years of flowing water? Who is playing who's strings, walking through the four seasons, the fragrance of the ages? Floating in the memory of the flamboyant smoke and rain, through the past life of the alley alley wind mouth, faded lead coat, in the heart in the dream, in a pious manner, arrived at the door of the hometown.
Carry a faraway, sigh a world of drifting? Dare to ask, come and go on the red dust, the cycle of life and death, I am that never break the line of rain, floating in the air? And fall into the dust? My mom and dad, brother and sister, is that the umbrella on top of the head, for me to protect the wind and rain, give me love and care.
And those sad old days, that beautiful memories of the past, will also sleep with time in the heart of history? And drifting in the traces of thoughts, in the wind, in the rain, open my lonely heart, drifting into the long dream of small town people. So, drunk on the face of the hometown town, but also drunk on my heart.