When we evaluate the structural beauty of prose, we should explore the formal beauty of the orderly structure of prose from the shallower to the deeper, from the surface to the inside. Below is what I brought to you for your enjoyment.
: "Hen"
I have always hated hens. I didn't know why I was a little frightened. Listen, it croaks from the front yard to the backyard, and from the backyard to the front yard, endlessly, and for no reason; annoying! Sometimes, it doesn't bark like this, but whispers softly, as if it has something on its mind. , trembling slightly, along the wall, or along the field dam, so long and loud that it sounds like complaining, making people immediately feel a little knot in their hearts.
It never resists the cock. However, sometimes they bully the most loyal duck. What's even more disgusting is that when he meets another hen, it will be vicious, take advantage of its unpreparedness, bite it hard, and bite off a bunch of feathers.
When it comes to laying eggs, it almost goes crazy, wishing that the whole world would know about its achievements; even a deaf person will be unbearably noisy by it.
But now I changed my mind. I saw a mother who hatched a group of chicks.
Whether it is in the yard or outside the yard, it always straightens its neck to show that there is nothing terrible in the world. When a bird flies by or something makes a noise, it immediately becomes alert, tilts its head to listen, straightens its body and prepares for battle, looks before and after, and cooes to warn the chicks that the chickens are about to arrive. When it finds something edible next to it, it coos, pecks at the thing, and immediately puts it down to teach its children to eat. As a result, each chick's belly was round and droopy, as if it had just been filled with one or two glutinous rice balls, but it itself became much thinner. If there are other big chickens coming to grab food, it will definitely attack and drive them away. Even the big rooster is afraid of it.
It teaches the chicks how many times a day to peck, dig and bathe in the soil. It was still squatting - I think this was quite tiring - and they were taught to squeeze under its wings and chest to get a little warmth. If it lies on the ground, some chicks will climb on its back and peck its head or other places, but it will not make a sound.
If there is any movement at night, it will cry loudly, so sharply and pitifully that any sleepy person will have to get up to see if there is a weasel.
It is responsible, loving, brave, and hardworking because it has a group of chicks. It is great because it is a chicken mother. A mother must be a hero.
I dare not hate hens anymore.
: "White Birch Tree"
She protects me. My house is about a hundred meters away from the road. There are all kinds of vehicles driving on the road: trucks, cars, buses, bulldozers, trucks, tractors. Thousands of vehicles shuttle back and forth. There is also dust. There is so much dust on the road! The dust flies towards my house. If it were not for her, this birch tree, how much dust would get into the windows, fall on the table, the bedding, and fly into the lungs. She absorbed all the dust on herself.
In summer, she is covered with green shade. A gust of wind blew by, and it began to dance. Her leaves are so thick that even the sun cannot shine through my window. But there happens to be no need for sunlight in the summer house. The refreshing coolness is a hundred times stronger than the scorching sunshine. However, the birch tree is completely bathed in sunlight. Her clusters of green leaves are shiny and verdant, and her branches are growing vigorously and becoming stronger and stronger.
It hasn’t rained a single time in June, and even the grass has begun to wither and turn yellow. However, she had apparently stored up water for emergencies, so she did not suffer at all from the drought. Her leaves are still as elastic and shiny, but they have grown up and their edges are rounded instead of zigzag-shaped, like in spring.
After that, thunder and lightning hovered near my house all day long, becoming more and more gloomy, rumbling dullly - as if in my own body - and finally broke out at the end of the curtain. It’s the white night season. The wind seemed to just want to test - how strong is this birch tree? How strong? The birch tree is not afraid, but seems to be anxious because of the impending disaster. She shakes the leaves in response. Then the strong wind roared suddenly like a raging bull, pounced on her, and hit her hard on the torso. She swayed suddenly, and in order to gain a firm footing more easily, she pushed the leaves back with the wind, so that the branches were like thousands of green streams flowing down from her body. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The wind died down. Heavy rain fell from the sky. At this time, the birch trees flowed to the ground along the arms hanging down from the trunk. She knew how to act in order to remain unmoved and ensure her life was safe.
At the end of July, she scattered the small yellow planes all over the land around her. Regardless of whether the wind blows or not, she throws the small plane in all directions, as far away from herself as possible, so that her thick canopy will not prevent them from absorbing more sunlight and rain, allowing them to grow into strong seedlings. Yes, she is different from us and has her own rules. She does not tie her children to her, so she can stay young forever.
That year, many young birch trees grew in the fields, pastures and valleys. Only there are none on the road.
If you ask what is the most unfortunate thing on earth, it is the roads. There is no grass growing on the road, and nothing will ever grow. Wherever there is a road, there is a barren land.
: "Stars"
I love the moonlit night, but I also love the starry sky. In the past, when I was enjoying the cool weather in the courtyard at night in July or August in my hometown, I loved to look at the densely packed stars in the sky. Looking at the stars, I will forget everything, as if I am back in my mother's arms.
Three years ago, there was a back door where I lived in Nanjing. Every night when I opened the back door, I saw a silent night. Below is a vegetable garden, above is a blue sky filled with stars. Although starlight is tiny in our eyes, it makes us feel that light is everywhere. At that time I was reading some books about astronomy, and I also recognized some stars, as if they were my friends and they were often talking to me.
Now at sea, facing the stars every night, I recognize them very well. I lay on the deck and looked up at the sky. There were countless half-bright stars hanging in the dark blue sky. The ship was moving, and the stars were also moving. They were so low, so shaky! Gradually, my eyes became blurred, and I seemed to see countless fireflies flying around me. The night at sea is soft, quiet and dreamy. I looked at the many familiar stars, and I seemed to see them twinkling at me, and I seemed to hear them whispering. At this time, I forgot everything. In the arms of the star, I smiled and fell asleep. I felt like a little child now sleeping in my mother's arms.