Essay on the countryside 800 words junior 5
Red willow, although the desert is so desolate, is your dear hometown; in order to find a landing place for the spring, you trudged hard on the undulating sand beams. The following is my composition for you to organize the composition of the countryside 800 words first year 5, I hope it will help you!
The composition of the countryside 800 words first year 1
The vast river carries the voyage of the sailboat, but the boat understands that the direction of the lighthouse is the heart of the most attached harbor; the blue sky carries the wings of the pigeon, but the direction of home is so clear.
Just like the river flowing attachment, the sky in the thoughts, a familiar term floats in the mind, the heart is always a little throbbing.
I used to marvel so much at the magnificence of the leaves, I felt the ultimate beauty. The distance between the branches and the land is only a few meters. However, the leaves resolutely break free, let the wind fly, it spins: let the car crushed, it still sings, it moves the beauty of the rotation to the roots. When I asked the falling leaves, they didn't speak, so it was supposed to be an inner emanation of feelings, slowly experienced. Until that year, the sun was full of joy, the spring breeze was warm, but blew away the bitterness of the heart. The cypress tree in front of the door crunched and shook their hearts. That day, our family moved to the city. Away from the crystal dew in the morning, away from the local flavor of the smoked bean tea of the clear rhyme floating will, away from the spring rain under the umbrella walking on the ridge of the cozy. I got into the car waiting in front of the gate and looked at the beautiful image of the old house reflected by the sun. In this peaceful courtyard, memories are dusty. In the direction of fading away, I shed tears and could not stop them from falling down and out of my heart.
A long way from home, everything is so new in the strange city, but the heart seems to be more and more homesick. At this moment, I seem to be able to truly realize that the determination of the falling leaves to break free from the branches is the power of home, the power of the roots. An essay by Lin Yutang once gave me deep comfort. When he was a child, he lived on Gulangyu Island, close to the sea. He often listened to the sea thoughtfully with his father on the beach. He often asked his father about the images on the other side of the sea, which he longed for. In the end, he flew over the sea, but the sea side remained deep in his heart. He said, "When I flew across the sea in an airplane, I thought it was actually very small, but when I looked at home from the other side of the sea, it was so far away." A short sentence is so meaningful, because nostalgia is the most beautiful language in the world.
Every living thing has its roots, a filament that pulls at it, and the most beautiful emotions in the world flow. Just on the border between Peru and Bolivia, there is a new Lake Titicaca, on which a group of Ulu live. He still lives on that floating island from the Spring and Autumn period. The Inca civilization is in decline, the greenhouse effect is coming, and he's still holding on. They say, "That's the water where the roots grow. Roots can't be uprooted and moved." It is such a simple but moving words, with that kind of desire to find, with uncontrollable fondness, I returned to the familiar land, holding a cup of green smoked bean tea, pacing on the country road, feeling the fragrance of the earth filled with dense moisture, just like Tye's Mass as soulful. At that moment, I felt like I was melting.
Pulling up a wildflower on the side of the road, I was amazed at the brilliant colors emanating from its bright green roots. It was then that I found the answer I had been tracking. I was young just about to set sail. A volume of books and a cup of tea, full of lingering memories, there was always a lighthouse in my heart to guide the way I came.
Composition of the countryside 800 words first year 2
Early in the morning, the sun is bright, I stepped on the sky the first touch of sunset, invited three or two partners, on the road in search of the countryside.
The road is long, can not help but boredom, I argued with my partner, "countryside" meaning. One said, the feeling of countryside is in the hands of the mother of the iron spoon stir-fried through the gusts of aroma. Another said, the love of the countryside is the childhood and playmates rolling in the field.
Back to the hometown, everything is so familiar and strange, the village tree is still there, under the tree to talk about the day is a set of people have changed and a set. The company's main goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers, and the company's goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers, and the company's goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers, and the company's goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers.
There is a bamboo forest behind my house, and I especially love the scenery there, whether it is to read, paint, or just stare, it will make people feel peaceful. Sometimes I would sit there for the whole afternoon.
Birds chirping in the bamboo forest, raise your head but not the shadow of the birds, a breath of fresh air, deep breath, seems to be able to smell the aroma of the soil and grass. There is no big city brand-name perfume and pungent cigarette smoke entangled in the noise, but more peace and beauty. I used to sit in the depths of the bamboo forest as I am now, listening to the sound of flowers blooming, listening to the warblers flying in February and the grass growing. Sitting here, I feel that even the sound of my own breath is a little bit louder, are destroying this beautiful . The serenity of the world.
In a short while, the rain came, not big, but it is the kind of rain that can easily wet your hair. I do not hide, by listening to the rain slowly down, listening to the sound of rain hitting the leaves tick tock, appeared a kind of unspeakable satisfaction. Tick-tock, is it talking to me? Tick-tock, is it calling me home. Rain elves moisturize the world, all the scenery in front of me seems to be covered by this thin layer of water mist, not really see, but also a hazy beauty. Bamboo leaves after the rain wash, more green, seems to be a fall into the world of the nine heavenly fairies, amazing, the beauty of the unparalleled. If the starting point of the wind, then this bamboo forest is more comfortable, the wind whisked away the heat and fatigue, listening to the rustle of the bamboo leaves, seems to be the bamboo and the wind chorus.
Out of the bamboo forest, strolling to the stream, attracted me is a burst of fragrance, I do not know who is baking fish in the stream, the aroma hooked me straight to the side of the fire color to go, towards the baked fish people to ask for two. The neighbors were like family, he smiled at me, handed over a fish and invited me to chat with him, I respectfully obeyed and sat down next to him. I sat down next to him. The sun was setting quietly and the evening breeze was blowing gently, causing the campfire next to me to sway. I munched on my grilled fish, occasionally vaguely agreeing with the words of the man beside me.
In a short while, the fish was finished, and he left, urging me to put out the fire before he left. Sitting by the fire, the heat of the flames chased away the chill of the night, and I sang softly.
With the nostalgia I sought, I returned home. I found the feeling of my hometown, the seclusion of the bamboo forest in my hometown, the kindness of the rain in my hometown, and the warmth of the people in my hometown.
Essay on hometown feeling 800 words first year 3
Trees outside the building, the moonlight inside the house is hazy, standing in front of the window, looking at the round of the full moon, listening to the tender voice of the children of whoever's home: "Dew from this night white, the moon is the hometown Ming." I can't help but think of my hometown, which is thousands of miles away.
As a child, on summer nights, the cool breeze caresses the fields and sends a faint aroma of rice flowers, and the scent seems to be yellowish, accompanied by cicadas, and dreamily envelops me. At this time I, sitting quietly on a pile of stones at the edge of the field, with a finger gently pointing at the stars, one, two, three ...... countless stars seem to play hide-and-seek in the sky, a moment to hide, a moment to poke his head out and sneak a peek, dazzling. The smiling moon is always flashing a faint light, like a mother gently looking at me, everything is so cozy.
Follow the partners to the pond during the day to play the water, first pick out a few pieces of the right size, shape, flat, sharp edges of the stone, and then crouch slightly, swung up his arm full force forward a hook, the stone slice slipped out of the water against the surface of the water, "pop-pop-pop! ", the water will play a unique symphony, bursts of ripples for a long time, seems to be a long-lasting applause. Sometimes coinciding with the early spring, the ice on the water has not yet melted, the group will work together to lift a piece of floating ice, wrestled into pieces, and then in the crimson hands of a few deep breaths, rubbing hands, grabbing the ice carefully polished after sliding to the water, that is another special experience.
On the fifth, fifteenth and twenty-fifth of each month, going to the river is the most exciting thing. As far as I can remember, the last rally before the New Year is the most lively, the street center to sell things the most vendors, couplets, "bonus", New Year's paintings, snacks, daily necessities ...... a wide range of everything, vendors yelling, people are also enthusiastic, put the The center of the street was jammed. The square gongs and drums, the village committee backyard rice-planting song performance by the old generation of people's favorite, and children like me like to stroll firecrackers, sugar paintings, snacks stalls, this side of the look, that side of the look, from three or four o'clock in the afternoon out of the stalls have been strolling to the sun set, and finally full of return.
It was common for neighbors to sit together. Between my house and the neighbor's house was a tall, thick jujube tree. In the summer, adults sitting under the tree together nagging, drinking tea, children in the tree hopscotch, hide-and-seek; early fall, the guys together to play jujube, jujube picking: first in the tree under a layer of raincover, then an adult stepped on a stool to climb up to the tree fork, grabbing the branch shaking hard left and right, the green and red jujube "flopping, flopping" jumping down, the children in the tree, and the children are in the tree, and then the tree, and then the tree, and then the tree, and the tree. The children are under the tree happily picking up, put one into the mouth, sweet and sour flavor will overflow the whole taste buds, really lips and teeth.
The night of the field, the joy of the pond, the crowded rally, under the tree and warm neighborly affection ...... Once upon a time, I thought I could once again return to this wonderful hometown, but I can not help but wings are not yet full, can only be accompanied by the parents traveled far away from his home, it is difficult to give up the love of the hometown ah! The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on some of the most popular products and services in the world.
In front of the window, the color of the moon is more of a longing, the tide of longing once again surged into my heart.
Composition of the countryside 800 words first year 4
Strolling along the roadside, I stumbled upon someone taking pictures. It was autumn, a golden season, and when that splash of color came into view behind the camera, a string of memories came flooding back.
That's my hometown - Hao Bei, a village located in Yushe. It's not so prosperous, not so rich, but compared with the city outside, it is the most intimate to me.
Every spring, the poplar tree will always sprout buds, growing under the touch of the spring breeze, and I was born in the spring, I am also accompanying it to grow up slowly, towards the harvest time.
"Click ......" relaxing sound from afar, take a closer look, it is a few small children on the roadside stepping on the leaves. The weather turned cool, the leaves on both sides of the road has piled up a thick layer, look up, the trees only sporadically hanging a few yellow leaves, shaking. The sound of laughter accompanied by the sound of "clacking" came from the silver bells, that is, I am enjoying the joys of childhood. At that time, young and ignorant, very easy to satisfy, just step on the leaves can have a good mood of the day.
"Big tree, you say I should do ......" summer afternoon, I will always lean against the tree to tell it the heart. The gurgling water and rustling trees dispersed the summer heat and brought peace of mind. That summer night, I followed the moonlight to visit the poplar tree, suddenly heard a burst of music, follow the sound to find, it was a group of grandpas and grandmas in the square dance, they are over age, but the almost athletic pace shows that they are always young at heart. A gust of wind blew by, the roadside poplar trees also accompanied the dance, like a band generally beat the beat. I don't know when, I also into the ranks of their ranks, enjoy the dance, completely forget the sadness of the heart. I picked a leaf to make a specimen, and the summer was engraved in my mind.
By the time the north wind whistles, the poplar tree can no longer sing a song, but it is under the snow, ready for the next spring's newborn. This is also what I have to go through, only after a continuous accumulation, in order to bloom the most beautiful fireworks at the end.
From childhood to adulthood, all year round, the roadside poplar tree is my partner, and in recent years because of the study away from home, but gradually ignored its existence. At this moment, the hometown of the roadside from the endless no cover to the iron fence all over, from the grass of the wasteland renovation into a continuous operation of the parking lot, from the old-fashioned houses to the typical courtyard, no matter how the environment changes, the roadside poplar tree is always sticking to its post, week in and week out, without slacking off.
Hao Bei village entrance is not famous for welcoming pines, but the poplar trees on both sides of the road can guide people forward. Hao Bei has no valiant sentries, but the mighty tall poplars always guard the safety of the village. Hao Bei has no shelter, but because of the existence of poplar trees, also formed a natural defense belt.
I have not even traveled to every corner of my hometown, but that poplar tree, is the evidence that I walk with my hometown. This is my hometown, and my favorite poplar tree. By Han Lei
Composition of the countryside 800 words first year 5 The hometown of the path to nowhere, but that tie the soil of the depth of love but never flow into the faded landscape. Sitting on the bus around the city, seems to be aimless travel, but followed the string of window flow of color, back to this land of my soul, the newly turned soil exudes the smell of dust, like through the ages, childhood memories, ringing in my heart, after a long time of familiarity with some of the strangers. This is my grandmother's home, the place where I used to grow up. No question about the date of arrival, no question about the date of return, I once again came here. The old house has spent dozens of springs and autumns in the wind and rain, so that this cold stone wall also got some temperature. "These stone houses are warm in winter and cool in summer." When I was a child, on summer evenings, the village elders always gathered together in the spacious street shaking a reed fan gently chatting, Grandma always took her embroidery needle in the dim light embroidery, from time to time to interject a few sentences, I sat on a wooden bench, back against the stone wall, quietly listening, the moon is buried in a sea of clouds, the stars are so bright. Grandma once again came out to pick me up with a smile on her face, and I was surprised to find that the old house had changed its doors and windows. "How many years old, always some new look." She shook her head, laboriously pulling open the door ring with her inflexible and rough fingers, the house was bright, because of the replacement of the doors and windows, vaguely, I still remember that sultry and dark summer night, the mosquitoes rushed around like jets, the mosquito coils lit in the kang head rises a misty white smoke, smells good, but makes this small space more stuffy, I broke away from the blanket, writhing in the kang of the dry and hot body: "Hot, hot, fan, fan." Grandma's big bushel fan, the wind growing hotter in this dark, dizzying space, the window small, the moonlight absent, the breeze absent, she shook it gently, humming out a tune. And I fell into a deep sleep. Such a beautiful time, such unforgettable years, every time I think of it, always a little warm. Those former days, grandmother, the old house, y imprinted in my memory. I miss the smoke rising from the house at dusk, and I'm also fond of the Mao opera sung by my grandmother on the rubbing board with a beat, but I can't stop the wrinkles at the corners of my grandmother's eyes, and the graying of her hair at the temples, just as I can't stop the stones of the old house from wearing smooth day by day and the doors and windows from becoming dilapidated. All the past has aged, but does this so-called once upon a time really still harbor something new? Through the brightly lit windows, I saw once again all that I knew, that touched my heart and haunted my soul. This is where I grew up. I can't stop it from growing old, but how can it not exist in another new form? In fact, the only thing that remains unchanged is the deep love in my heart for it. Changes in my hometown will still be far away, just like I took the bus traveling in different places, looking out the window of the sea, but there is always a stop sign is where I get off, and this place, is my hometown, waiting for me to return quietly, calmly.