Beautiful 600-word composition of cherry blossoms and flowers

During the Qingming Festival, the spring rain continued, and the fog still lingered quietly among the chestnut trees. With the fragrance of flowers and the morning bell, I came to this land again Suddenly, an inexplicable emotion came to my mind, which made people feel the urge to kneel. Under the chestnut forest, the whole village came to a grave to pay homage to an old man. Is he a celebrity? Or a great man? No, he is just a farmer (my grandfather) at the foot of Yanshan Mountain. The branches of freshly sprouted chestnuts hung low in front of the grave, as if telling the world this true story. It was a difficult time. In this desolate land, people are full of pain, but no one wants to work. And grandpa himself is hungry, still holding a pick, hunching his back, quietly reclaiming the wasteland of hope. Every time I come home with the light on, I am greeted only by grandma's complaints. In order to collect enough money to buy saplings, they often quarrel until late at night. In desperation, he had to borrow it from distant relatives. Unfortunately, grandpa was knocked down by a truck because of overwork. At night, he dragged a long shadow from the hospital and came home with a heavy stone in his heart. But their quarrel seems to be more intense ... the night is shrouded in melancholy. Grandpa sat on the threshold, smoking a pipe in his mouth. The flickering lights shone on his wrinkled face, and thick smoke rose, making his thin face older and older. At dawn, grandpa lived in the deep mountains with an iron pot and a pickaxe on his back. All the complaints and taunts disappeared in this state of silence. In the deep mountains, there are many trees, wild flowers scattered at the foot of the mountain, and the breeze is mixed with the smell of weeds. The rotten leaves on the ground are like a carpet without edges, and a group of sparrows are jumping on it. All I hear is the conversation between birds and flowers, the wind and the branches and leaves. Occasionally rabbits come out. The sky has just been polished, the distant mountain is still a vague outline, and the dew is still nestled among the flowers. At this point, the smoke from grandpa's hut has slowly risen from the gap in the Woods. Then, the sound of the pickaxe kissing the earth "da da ……" echoed in the mountains and valleys, with a long rhyme and a long sound, penetrating the jade-like cold world. Let the clouds fall in love with the fog and the birds sing. Injected new strength into the depths of the originally silent forest, as if the silent world had opened a gap. Late at night, the mirror-like moon hangs in the sky, quietly pouring clear water on the earth, and a thin layer of smoke rises in the forest. The spring breeze gently brushed grandpa's snow-white hair, emitting the fragrance of the night. He couldn't help shivering, followed by a severe cough, which became more and more severe and turned red. The oil lamp was almost exhausted, gradually dim, and finally extinguished by the hazy night, never to be seen again.