The earth is covered with golden dance clothes again, dancing under bright lights, forgetting the world and yourself.
Dusk is my favorite moment. Although it does not have the mystery of the morning and the tranquility of the night, it is so full of human feelings that I am deeply intoxicated.
When the sky is rendered into rosy glow, all directions are surrounded by shouts floating in the air, which are far and near, crisp and bright, but the constant voice is hoarse, as if mixed with sand and stones, echoing in people's hearts like the dull bells and bells in ancient temples. It's an old couple delivering gas in the community. Crunched tricycles are indispensable tools for their livelihood. Carrying a few kilograms of gas tanks upstairs and downstairs has become their daily life. And they pass by people's windows every day, which has become a common occurrence.
The sound of metal-to-metal collision and the friction between hands and cloth broke the silence floating in the air and disturbed the peace of one side. Layers of clothes were taken off one by one, bathed in golden light, left the small balcony and the short iron bar, hung neatly, folded meticulously and put into a dark and narrow space. They wait quietly, waiting for their owners to decide their lives repeatedly, until they are riddled with holes and until their lives end.
The garden diagonally opposite, like a sleeping beauty who suddenly woke up from a deep sleep, became extremely active in an instant. Children's frolicking is like a wordless nursery rhyme, wandering in people's ears, bringing people back to a short and beautiful childhood; Naive words haunt people's hearts, reminding them of a happy life; Simple and poetic games, rippling in front of people, make people forget the troubles in life. They silently wash people's souls, help people return to the purest self, and embed a golden framework for this self.
The fragrance of vegetables overflows from the windows of every household, permeates the air, turns into wisps of light smoke, drills into people's noses, and warms people's tired bodies like a lullaby. The heavy workload is like a flock of birds, flying away from the crowd to other worlds, silently nourishing the dry heart like a shower.
Dusk, dusk, has anyone found your human touch!
600 words in the composition of the second day of junior high school describing dusk
Dusk is a sigh of country life.
How can city people have time to watch the red sun emit soft yellow light and gradually disappear between heaven and earth? Even if you occasionally see a yellow and white pill in the distant sky, it will always be dim in countless neon lights, worn out in the exhaust of city cars, fleeting in the jungle-like cement building, and discarded in the mahjong sound of the elderly. ...
It can be seen that the beautiful scenery of "willow tops on the moon, people meet after dusk" has disappeared without a trace; The time of "the shadow is thin and the water is shallow, and the faint fragrance floats on the moon" has disappeared without a trace ... Even rural youths who go to work in cities have long forgotten the significance of being in such a hurry every day, but as long as they return to the countryside, they will see cattle plowing in the fields, and the golden light at dusk is all over the world. The farmers' heads are wrapped in white towels, and the pipes in their mouths emit a few wisps of smoke. Dusk is still the most important part of their lives. The golden sun shines on the rice, and the boat on the lake "swims at dusk every day, and the boat is as light as a feather". My father needs a wrinkled face to show a happy look, sitting on the edge of the rice field, with a pipe in his mouth forever; It makes people feel very warm, and the dusk sunshine that moves gently in sync with your progress makes people feel very novel. "In one day, from self-satisfaction to dusk, those who shake drums are always ringing", and the pavilion is cool, which makes people relaxed and happy. This will always leave the brand of their hometown in their hearts.
At the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, people in the city will never see it: the half-round red sun is hidden between the mighty rivers and the edge of heaven and earth, and people can't help but sing a poem "to see the sun, for all his glory is buried in the coming night". Obviously, he is a young boy, but he laments the perishable life. When I was a teenager, my parents and I walked by the river. Occasionally, I can see one or two young people hanging fishing rods beside them. I didn't look at the world, but stared at the computer in my hand and made progress in a hurry. After a long time, I saw the sun gradually disappear, and the earth fell into a world illuminated by neon lights, but those people quickly left with computers. How many people in the city have been busy all their lives, but don't know why. It suddenly dawned on me that the so-called dusk is coming, and it is about to enter the night. I always feel why life is busy when I am old, and I have experienced so many intrigues in the world. What is this for? On the horizon at dusk, I wrote my own lamentation for this late age. Sleeping hand in hand with my wife also makes up for a little regret of coming into this world.
A sigh of regret is also an endless lament for dusk, "to see the sun, for all his glory, buried by the coming night".
The third junior high school composition describes 600 words at dusk.
When the breeze blew, the yellowish leaves on the tree trembled slightly, collided with each other and separated, and then were involved in the disorderly dance of the leaves by an unknown vortex. It seems to have no order, but it exudes a unique high temperament, which makes people indulge in its wildness and another mysterious demeanor.
I looked blankly at the yellowed tree, quietly watching it shake wildly under the constraints of the wind, as if an excellent pianist were playing a very difficult tune with his fingers.
The sky is far away, and a few white clouds are swaying in the sky, like homeless children, as if they want to express something, but they can't do anything.
When the sun shines on the earth through layers of clouds, it is only a very shallow layer of light, which makes people question its existence.
The leaves on the tree are still shaking and shaking, and they look weaker than the old people who are over 60, but its solid trunk and dense leaves make people have to admit that it is still nothing like that in early summer.
As the sun sets, the unconsciously immersed world gives the earth a golden afterglow. Floating cloth sand gently covers the ground, covering all the noise during the day and purifying the soul of the world.
The night time always passes through my fingers inadvertently. When I walked home, the dazzling red sun, which was still hanging high in the sky, had quietly fallen into the swaying white clouds, and a lamp was lit behind the clouds, shining with a red light around me.
With the passage of time, the sunset gradually sinks, and the deep red gradually turns into indifferent pink. White clouds dragged it, but could not resist the running of time and landed in the distant west.
The dense leaves outside the window, a few low-rise buildings not far away, and the lights on the roadside became more and more blurred when the sunset gradually swallowed up, until only a shadow appeared under the dim light. Countless people lit the lights, but they were blocked by lush leaves. I sat in my room and watched all this quietly until … the lights went out and the night eroded everything.
As for the rising sun tomorrow, it's none of my business.