When I was a child, when it rained, my mother always picked me up from school with a blue umbrella. My head is blue, my shoulders are blue, and everything I can see is a blue sky without rain. Later, on a rainy day, I looked up and talked to my mother, only to find that half of her sky was gray, and the wind mixed with raindrops fell into her gray sky. My mother's shoulders are wet, and the hair on my forehead is wet, but I am still in a blue rainless sky.
"Mom, the umbrella is crooked," I warned. "No, the umbrella is not crooked." Mother replied softly, and my eyes rested on the oblique umbrella handle. "It's true, the umbrella is crooked."
My mother stubbornly said, "No, really not ..." Later, when she grew up, she didn't want her mother to pick me up in rainy days. The blue umbrella faded year after year in the cupboard, and I once thought I had forgotten it. Maybe it's a coincidence, another rainy day and that blue umbrella. Under the umbrella, my mother and I hold an umbrella. I am about the same height as my mother.
My eyes unconsciously fell on the umbrella handle, and the scene was mixed with the scene when I was a child. My mother is shrouded in a blue rainless sky. My shoulders are wet and my hair is wet.
"The umbrella is crooked," my mother reminded me. "No, it's not crooked." "It's true, the umbrella is crooked," mom repeated.
"Mom, it's really not crooked, it's not." There was silence for a long time under the umbrella, but when I turned around, I caught a glimpse of the glittering water drops across my mother's face and cheeks.
The faded umbrella reappears the blue that was as clear as the sky before. Finally understand, for a long time, my mother propped up a rainy day for me. Now, I want to give my mother a happy day, although Meng Jiao said, but how much love for inches of grass won three blessings.
So my eyes were tied to the blue umbrella. I'm the one who fights under the lamp every night, and I'm the one who shuttles to the cram school every weekend ... all because of that tilted blue umbrella. That blue, clear as the sky, makes my eyes dare not move, never dare to move.
Motherly love will have an exam tomorrow, and everyone is eagerly "gnawing" at books. I am no exception.
Maybe it's too much pressure. I am very distressed. In the dead of night, I am still looking through my Chinese book in confusion, but I can't understand it at all.
At this moment, my mother pushed the door and came in with a cup of hot milk in her hand. "Son, have an exam tomorrow. Stop reading tonight, drink milk and go to bed early! " Mom said with concern with a smile.
Although I know my mother's mind, my irritability has turned me into a hedgehog, and my mother has become the object of venting. "I don't want to drink. I don't even have time to read. Do I still have time to drink milk? " I don't look up.
"You'd better go to bed early for the exam tomorrow, or you'll be listless tomorrow." There was a hint of anxiety in my mother's tone.
"You leave me alone! I can't read my book! " I yelled at my mother. The atmosphere suddenly became very dead and embarrassing. My mother was stabbed all over by me, like a turtle without a shell.
I know my mother cares about me, and I know I hurt my mother. In fact, I really don't want to say those harsh words, but I don't know why, as soon as I opened my mouth, these words came out like a barrage.
My mother silently tidied up the books I put on the bed. Seeing that I was not "sleepy", I turned around and sighed and closed the door gently ... Listening to my mother's footsteps behind the door and looking at the steaming milk in front of me, my heart was full of guilt. I want to run out and say "sorry" to my mother. However, I have no courage.
In this silent night, I hurt my mother, but my mother laughed it off and was so tolerant of me. Broad maternal love makes me feel great, but it also makes me feel guilty.
I turned off the light and heard my mother approaching and leaving. I looked at the ceiling and made up my mind that I would apologize to my mother tomorrow. I suddenly feel that my mother's love is like air, keeping me alive, but I often forget its existence.
The reeds by the river are blue and green.
The white dew condenses into frost in late autumn.
The people I miss day and night,
On the other side of the river.
Looking upstream,
This road is dangerous and long.
Look for it downstream,
It seems to be in the middle of the water.
The reeds by the river are lush,
The dew is still wet in the morning.
My ghost,
Just across the river.
Looking upstream,
The road is rugged and difficult to climb.
Look for it downstream,
It seems to be in the middle of the sandbar.
The reeds by the river are more lush,
The Millennium still lingers in the morning.
The person I'm looking for,
Just across the river.
Looking upstream,
This road is dangerous and circuitous.
Look for it downstream,
Like a sandbar in the water.
3. Rewrite a short composition (misty, cold late autumn), let go of your mood and pursue the truth that I don't know if there will be.
The autumn wind is swaying gently, making waves on the sea of reeds. Open your arms and breathe the morning air freely. Wet, with a faint smell of reed leaves. Close your eyes and let the wind brush my long hair and stroke my cheek. Lift up my white gauze skirt. Oh, is this "autumn" mentioned in that poem? And his place in my heart?
There are broken reed leaves on the road, which are very comfortable to step on and cope with the moisture and soft soil in the morning. Just like the Persian carpet at home, it has that kind of gentle happiness. The road turns around, and this winding road takes me to find my vision. Crystal autumn frost covered the whole body of reed, as bright as pearls. Like sweet lovers snuggling together, inseparable. The skirt gently lifted the reed tip, and a few grains of frost turned into water, finding the final destination of his life. Oh, he is my home. Where is he?
Upstream, the road becomes difficult and steep. The first ray of sunshine in the morning fell. Heaven and earth and space have become rising reeds that warm Ye Qingqing. Frost broke through the admiration of the sun, dazzling, thin fog looming, instantly turning the world into a sea full of love. Oh, life is beautiful. I want to know when the sunshine in my life will shine into my heart. Where is he in my heart?
Stop, I have come to the sandbar in the water, the fog around me is gradually fading, and the frost on the reed is slowly melting. The breeze blows, and it seems that there is no longer so much chill. The reeds ebb and flow, the fog floats, and the bright sunshine makes this beautiful scenery look brand-new and the late autumn so beautiful. The fresh morning breeze keeps blowing my hair, and I am looking for him in my heart.
Along the winding river, although the road is difficult and tortuous, the pursuit of happiness is full of hope. Gently pull up the left and right skirt corners with both hands and slowly move forward. I couldn't help lifting my white gauze skirt, swinging my waist and dancing beside the reed pond in late autumn. I suddenly remembered the scene of Princess Koryo dancing for Qin Jun's general Meng Yi in the movie Myth. And deep affection "-this dance, I only dance for you." I wonder if I can see him in my mind.
Oh, when will he find you in his heart?
4. Imitate Jia Jian and write a modern poem with no less than three sections of Behind the Rain.
Thunderstorm comes in the evening, a daytime baggage.
Being locked out of the door, like time, is easily forgotten.
And lightning, like a signal that is easily shattered by reality.
Slide fast on the black velvet stage
At the moment, rain is like a thick curtain.
Thick enough to be invisible, it obscures the light of everything.
I sat by the window, tightly wrapped in the silence of the storm.
Is the only light in the long night.
I heard something ringing in the rain curtain.
It seems that a small group of soldiers are running in the wheat field.
A summer woman stood at the front of the room, sifting sand.
A giant snake is crawling in the grass.
Sometimes it becomes very light, almost nothing.
Like a dead thing, bow your head and whisper.
Or, the lost year returns at night.
The dream stall quietly rummaged through the wooden cases in the attic.
Like a person, stealing a sacred feast at night.
Two thin grave diggers dropped half their shovels.
Or a small coal yard in the moonlight.
A group of ragged people secretly transported coal at night.
A large flock of birds is gathering They are standing in the rain.
Obey the orders of the vultures in front of the queue
A large group of lunatics were trapped in an empty military airport.
A sleeping tiger pretended to be a tree in the forest.
I dare not go into the center of the rain curtain, which is layer by layer.
As tight as an impenetrable wall.
I can't walk into the middle of the rain curtain any more than I can take one.
At dusk, on the wall of the ruins, I recited poetry silently like a cat.
This series of sounds always rings in the darkness outside the window.
It's like a thousand violins parked far from here.
When no one is playing, they will make a monotonous melody.
Occasionally insert a short gloomy monologue and blind chorus.