Read the following paragraph and write as required.
Sometimes I think there is no difference between this year and last year, this week and last week, and today and yesterday. ...
But when you suddenly look back and look far away, you will find that the traces of time are silent. Unconsciously, they are deep or shallow, thick or light, so they are engraved on your face, body and heart.
Please write an article of no less than 800 words on the topic of "Time leaves traces" and make up your own mind. Except poetry, the style is not limited.
Writing instruction:
Zi said in Sichuan: the deceased is like a husband, not giving up day and night. Time is a long river, whether it is the glory of creation or the plain life, it is a hairpin that is pinned in the long hair of time. Time won't let glory evaporate, and time won't let memory decay.
"Leaving a mark" is a spark left by life experience in people's hearts, which often gives birth to the light of thought. "Leaving a mark" is not only a surge of inner feelings, but also a tremor of the soul. If time is a scroll, then "imprint" is the ink on a piece of paper in this scroll. If time is a distant night sky, then the "mark" is a beautiful arc crossed by a meteor, which breaks the silence and also crosses your heart.
When writing, we should concretize this abstract "mark" and choose a suitable starting point. You can capture a small wave in your life from a personal point of view and write about the influence of a person or a thing on yourself. You can also open your eyes and edit the bits and pieces of history into a picture. The key is to take the passage of time as the background, closely follow the "traces left", write the people, things and things that have influenced and inspired your heart, and write the mark that you have crossed the bottom of your heart. And this mark will grow with you and shine in your life. It is the motor to move forward, the palm to smooth the wrinkles of the soul, and a cup of jasmine chrysanthemum tea when you are tired. Always in the softest corner of your heart, let you warm and moved.
Example:
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I often say: the days when the wheat awn is propped up are the years when the wheat awn is cut off; Man is the mark of time.
When I was a child, during the harvest season in June, my grandfather would tie a handkerchief on his head and take the whole family into the harvested wheat field. Golden wheat, like silks and satins that have been knocked over by mistake, ripples in the wind, and a lot of gorgeous and psychedelic hearts and eyes. I stood on the ridge and began to allocate their main battlefield, keeping the biggest piece for myself.
I am the backbone of a big family, with dark skin, short spirit and strong body. I am sure that I will never die, just like the century-old tree at the door, which is always getting old, but its vigorous branches hold up half the sky. But grandpa said that no one can travel through time and carry on the years. People get old as soon as they leave, and years leave a mark on them. They are old, their teeth are shaking badly and their eyes are glassy. They are too old to have dreams. When they bend down to pick up stones, they will be panting, and eventually they will be taken away by the years and never come back.
Later, my stubble turned into a gray beard, shaking like the legendary old fairy. There are small brown spots on my face. I wonder if this is the trace of time. At this time, I will touch my head and smile heartily: "Haha, this is the trace of time, an immortal masterpiece!" " "
It was June of another year, and my grandfather led me to the wheat field with a tobacco pouch in one hand. Trembling, he picked up an ear of wheat, crushed it, gently blew off the bran, picked one and put it in his mouth, chewed it carefully and tasted it thoughtfully. I dragged my grandfather to the corner: Grandpa, look there. "At the end of the wheat field, the golden wheat is dizzy with a misty beauty. I pointed to the distance: "fly over. "Just like the general who assigned the battlefield in those days, it made me feel that the years really went back. I spread my arms and walked along the ridge of running all the way, like a butterfly in spring. I touched the mature wheat awn, unlike the beard now, like the stubble in the early years, stinging people.
Grandpa said, a person, throughout his life, there is always a road to the end, there is always a hurdle to cross, so, ah, people have to stand up. When the wheat lies under the sickle, the wheat grains will plunge into the soil. Everything in the world is respected by people, but after a snow, people silently walk away with the years.
In this world, it is not the house that can keep people, but the road that can take people away. Time can't stretch out a hand to catch the past clouds for me. If everything could be done again. Grandpa, I want to pick up your smile, footsteps and wind, make lamp oil with your love, and make twists with your faith. I want to light it, keep it in my heart and cherish it for a lifetime. Just like the mark left by years on the face, it will be unforgettable for life.
Grandpa said that people are the scars of years, and people can't carry the years. In fact, time can't carry people. Because I see the wheat growing season after season in the distant land, which is the undercurrent of life, gurgling. ...
Comments: The article is gentle as a stream, not magnificent, and it flows through your heart silently, letting us know an amiable and respectable grandfather. Grandpa is strong and loving, aging in the years, but it brings me endless encouragement and thoughts. Originally, the topic of the passage of time is easy to leave a sad taste, but the article gives people a kind of strength. "In fact, time can't carry people." The viewpoint is novel and optimistic, which guides us to keep struggling and making progress.
The language image is moving. The metaphor of "golden wheat is like silks and satins that have been knocked over by mistake" is vivid and natural, and the love for wheat fields is beyond words. "I will never die in my life, just like the century-old tree at the door" is a very apt metaphor, which also contains infinite affection for my grandfather. "Make lamp oil with your love and twist with your faith. I want to light it, put it in my heart and cherish it for a lifetime. " It has a long meaning, and I will never forget the subtle influence my grandfather exerted on me.
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Staring at the hourglass on the desk, it just slipped down slowly, for thousands of years. At this moment, I feel that the years have passed, but looking back, I can't find any traces of the past. I am like a naive child, picking up the bits and pieces of that year by the river of memory. I'm sorry, I lost so much. The only thing that impressed me in my memory was the old house, standing at the end of the country like a kind old man, waiting for my return.
I never thought that the old house would collapse one day, just like it collapsed at that moment with a thousand years of sadness, like a wandering and exhausted wanderer who suddenly fell on the vast Gobi desert and no longer had the strength to move himself. A wooden stick on the beam hit the ground when I fled in panic, as if to take me into my arms. I don't know whether to cry for her or to be glad that I survived.
I was in a trance for several days, and the house fell down, and the only trace left by the years suddenly became silent. I just remembered that the wall was covered with awards from my sister and me and a wicker straw hat woven in spring. Although it has dried, my memory still exists. It's a pity that the traces left by the years have not been discovered until now. The old house that accompanied me for many years witnessed my growth. Although I can't speak, I understand her mind.
When I saw my uncle's newly decorated residence, I missed the old house even more. The orange light shines in the small room. Under the light, my mother's patched back and I insist on doing my homework. It has been several months since I went home again, and the new foundation has been laid, but I have no joy. I don't know if there is an old house groaning under the foundation, and I feel like a homeless child. No matter how good the new house is, it is lifeless and doomed to be out of my life. My soul has been given to the old house. All warm pictures can only be like the photos in the photo frame on the wall, which exist in the depths of memory and emit lasting fragrance.
From the moment I fell from the old house, I was trying to find it, for fear that those blurred traces of time would be silent with the old house, just like people shivering in the cold wind trying to catch the last burnt-out candle to warm their lives.
Pushing open the creaking door, the leaves on the papaya tree have fallen to the ground and the vines in the autumn wind are still there. Yes, they are still there. Just like every winter, they will germinate and grow again in the next spring. My relatives are here, and my grandparents are in good health, so I finally found the traces of time, looked at the yellow and round papaya on the tree, and finally smiled easily in its refreshing aroma one afternoon after the collapse of the old house.
Comments: The article selects a witness of the years-the old house. Writing about the ruthlessness of the years through the collapse of the old house evokes memories of the past. But the article is not limited to the sentimentality of the old house, but realizes that the wheel of history will turn forward forever through the joy of the health of relatives. Only in this way can we face all the setbacks and sufferings in life calmly. The language is true and affectionate.
The environmental description at the end plays a finishing touch: "The leaves on the papaya tree have fallen to the ground, and the vines in the autumn wind are still there" and "It will sprout and grow next spring" lights up the whole article, giving people a feeling of bright future. At the same time, it also gives people a kind of strength to forge ahead, just like vines. Spring will grow new buds, the depressed winter will pass, and tomorrow will always be better than today. Believe in tomorrow, believe in the future!
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When the breeze blows, ripples appear on the lake, which gradually subside after spreading to the distance. It seems that there is no trace, but there is a turbulent current in the depths of the lake. In life, the years seem to leave no trace, but they have changed us inadvertently, so work hard and let the years leave a perfect impression.
Down-to-earth, watered with sweat, let the years leave traces of struggle. I am a seedling among rocks, living in darkness all day. Although I am extremely ordinary, I also yearn for the broad blue sky and gentle sunshine. So I put my roots deep in the rock, tried my best to absorb limited nutrients, and opened the stems and leaves wide to carry more dew and moisten my dying roots. I don't know if I can survive here in my life, but I still try. Even if I can't see the vast blue sky and golden sun in my life, I still want to perfume this time with sweat and let the years leave traces of struggle.
Choose the ideal, defend it with your life, and let the years leave unyielding traces. In that war-torn era, I came. I was greeted by half a broken country, and the other half had already been trampled by Yidi's fighters. I have worshipped Li Guang since I was a child, a flying general who never taught Huma to climb the Yinshan Mountain. I am eager to gallop the battlefield like him, defend the territory like him, and make Yidi fearful. Holding the ideal of "serving the country faithfully", at the age of 20, I folded my ideal and hid it in my military uniform. Because of my ideal, I founded Yue Jiajun, and we are invincible. I smiled with relief when I heard the enemy exclaim, "It's easier to defend the mountain than to defeat the Yuegujun". The ideal of loyalty to the country is more prominent in the thick war. However, twelve imperial edicts fell from the sky and awakened me from my ideal. A series of "unwarranted" charges followed, and I gradually felt that it could not be realized.
Choose the distance, write with youth, and let the years leave traces of no regrets. Since you have chosen a distant place, you just need to share joys and sorrows. We can't change the pace of time, but we can change the traces that time will leave. Don't say if, don't say it again, not every mistake and miss can be repeated. What we have to do is: seize every minute of our life, try our best to make our body full of wisdom and let the years leave traces of no regrets.
Inadvertently, another period of time passed in a hurry, leaving a faint trace. Do you know that?/You know what?
Comments: This is a heroic hymn and an interpretation of the ideal of fighting against the golden hero Yue Fei. Yue Fei's "loyal service to the country" was charged with "unwarranted", and all his grandiloquence was shattered, but he had no regrets. "I will defend it with my life and leave unyielding traces in the years." Tagore said: "There are no traces of birds in the sky, but I flew over." Yes, since I chose a distant place, I only care about the hardships.
The article adopts the first-person writing method, which is true and touching, and the description of the inner feelings of the characters is true and touching, which makes it easier for the author to play. "Grasp every minute of your life, try to make your body full of wisdom, and let the years leave traces of no regrets" to point out the main idea of the article, and pursue it persistently for the sake of ideals, regardless of success or failure.