A 600-word composition for the first grade of junior high school intoxicated by nostalgia.
"The fallen leaves in autumn, the wind is worrying, blowing away the cicadas and chirping endlessly; look at the sky , the cloud remains, I know you never stop."
Time flies by, like a white horse passing by, like smoke and dust. While losing, at the same time, I am afraid of losing. Over and over again, years pass by, life is long, and what is left? Just memories. Why not just put down your silence, walk with the golden autumn, and indulge in the wind.
In the early morning, open the window and it’s the beginning of a new day. The sky is like a dark blue mysterious crystal, shining with cold and biting majesty; and the rising sun, although small, is like a pearl and as bright as the dragon's eyes. Before he could let go of his imagination, his eyes became brighter, and a white halo of light spread out on the horizon, twinkling. The sky was brightly dyed, and the streets gradually became lively. The deafening sound of car horns, the shouts of farmers selling vegetables, and the annoying quarrels... all kinds of busy people on the streets seemed very strange.
Then go to the fields. It only took an hour's drive to reach the suburbs. "The spring water stirs the rocks, making a cool sound; the good birds sing to each other, and their chirping becomes a rhyme." Sure enough, the mountains are higher than the sky, the water is as green as the original, walking along the path, clear and majestic, wild chrysanthemums blooming on the roadside, there are still things that have passed since the end of summer. The spring flowers withered are scattered in the grass, exquisite and touching, and complement each other; turning to the field, you can see the endless, as clear and yellow as the desert. The people in the field are silent, wearing hats, holding sickles, one by one. The rice is harvested, rising and falling together, forming a huge harvest wave with the melody of the autumn wind. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a path, and I stood on tiptoes, carefully stepping on the withered yellow leaves on the ground, listening to the sweet singing of fallen leaves. At the end of the road, there is a wasteland. There are many grasses, the grass is very long, almost reaching my knees, and the tips are slightly yellowed by the autumn wind. An old sycamore tree stands in the middle of the grass, very thick, like a kind old man, looking at me with a smile. , I also smiled slightly. Quietly and cautiously, I walked to him, sat down, closed my eyes, and listened to him tell the story of this autumn...
"The fallen leaves in autumn, the wind is worrying, and the cicadas are chirping endlessly. "Looking at the sky, the clouds are still there, I know you have never stopped."
My friend, would you like to enjoy the autumn with me? Just lie drunk under the sycamore tree and let the past drift in the wind.
Part 2: Nostalgia long enough to intoxicate me, 600-word composition for the first grade of junior high school
There are two lines in the poem "Spring Night Joyful Rain": "Good rain knows the season, and spring will happen. Follow the wind. Sneaking into the night, moistening things silently." These two poems describe the selflessness of rain vividly.
Whether it is a heavy downpour or a gentle breeze and drizzle; whether the rain is pattering on the ground or pattering, it selflessly contributes to nature and leaves what it can do without hesitation. nature.
No matter in ancient times or in modern times, rain has a unique flavor. In ancient times, everything became new when it rained. It falls on the leaves, on the vegetables in the ground, on the fruits of the cane, and on the streets and alleys. It uses its gentleness to make the world fresher, and the leaves that have absorbed the rain appear greener. With the wind, the willow branches and trees sway together, and the mist after the rain makes the ancient building look like a paradise. Everything was so quiet and peaceful.
But back in modern times, rain has another attitude. Due to the current development of science and technology, rain has a gorgeous feeling. The rain falls in the sky, but it is no longer as thin as before. They seem to have turned into long and thin rectangles. Accompanied by the colorful neon lights in the distance, they slowly change color in the sky, like bursts of "rainbow rain." Sometimes you may even have the illusion that what is falling is not rain, but thin and long strips of ice.
Because of the rain, so many excellent works that are rare and rare and have been passed down through the ages have been produced; it is also because of the rain that modern literary writers have published many beautiful articles.
Li Shangyin was intoxicated by the night rain in Bashan, and Wang Zengqi was intoxicated by the rain in Kunming. And I am intoxicated by the rain of all things.
A 600-word essay on the love of three hometowns that makes me intoxicated in the first grade of junior high school
Behind the house of my grandma’s house is a paradise. A small pond with a few reeds growing naturally around it. When the wind blows, the reeds sway gently and dance in the wind. Occasionally, a few colorful butterflies would fly by and rest on the wild flowers by the water, unwilling to leave.
At that time, I often leaned against the wall, playing with a few roses, intoxicated, and worrying about when my parents would take me home. Only then could my grandma unexpectedly stuff food into my mouth. However, as a picky eater, I tried violently several times, but my grandma's strategy had little effect.
I don’t know who my grandma heard from that drinking milk can help increase appetite. A rare glass of milk was added to my diet.
One morning, I was woken up by a sound of "ding-ding-ding-dong-dong". I recalled the meals that were hard to swallow and the loneliness and grievance caused by my parents working outside and not being seen all day long. Feelings welled up in my heart.
But I didn’t ignore the fragrance of milk. Children are still children after all.
I opened the quilt and quickly got out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and peeked through the slightly opened crack of the door——
Grandma slowly poured the milk into the pot, stirred it gently with a spoon, and then Added an egg to the milk. The aroma of milk mixed with the aroma of egg hits your face. Grandma squinted her eyes slightly and took a deep breath, as if she was enjoying the delicious eggs and milk, and as if she was imagining me enjoying the delicious food.
I was stunned and accidentally bumped into the door. My grandma ran out when she saw my bare feet and scolded me: "Why did you step out without wearing shoes? What should I do if I catch a cold?" I was dumbfounded. With a silly smile, my usual complaints and dissatisfaction with grandma for "forcing" me to eat disappeared at this moment, replaced by gratitude and love.
"Grandma!" I called sweetly, took the milk that grandma handed me, and took a big gulp. "Be careful!" Grandma scolded again. The milk mixed with the aroma of eggs is sweet and delicious. After just one sip, the rich aroma of milk lingered on the tip of my nose, and the smell of milk was also in my mouth.
In the childhood paintings, there are ponds behind the house and surrounding reeds, wild flowers and grasses, colorful butterflies flying over, and a cup of milk full of love. In the center of the painting, there are A touch of nostalgia.
Now, I have come to a big city with my parents, and I have already tasted a variety of milk with different tastes. However, I will never forget the cup that my grandma "personally ordered" for me. In that cup, there is not only the sweet aroma of milk and eggs, but also the taste of nostalgia, which I will treasure, remember, and reminisce all my life.