Five Selected Essays of Grade Nine (1)
Two roses
There are two roses in the flower bed downstairs, a brilliant red and a goose yellow.
That red plant always seems to bloom so brightly, so brightly, just like a red hydrangea, which is held high above its head. The yellow one is a little reserved, but it only blooms once or twice.
A group of children came running, looked at two Chinese roses in the flower bed and began to comment. I walked past them, and a few words floated into my ears?
"I like the red one. How beautiful. "
"Me too. Look at the yellow one. It only blooms a few flowers a year. "
That red rose, swaying in the summer breeze, is even more graceful.
The children ran away. To tell the truth, I like that red rose, too.
However?
A heavy rain poured down for a long time and didn't stop until evening.
When I came back from the outside, I was surprised to see two Chinese roses in the flower bed at a glance?
The red one has been smashed to the ground, bent down in the soil, and a branch is painfully stretched forward. On weekdays, its proud fiery red flowers all withered and its petals fell to the ground. And that goose yellow rose is still standing, showing its unyielding to the wind and rain.
I can't help but have an infinite love for goose yellow roses.
The children are here again, still chattering away?
"This yellow rose is still alive."
"Look, this yellow one is more beautiful than that red one now."
I smiled, in fact, the real beauty lies not in how gorgeous the appearance is, but in the unyielding experience of wind and rain.
People are the same.
Five Selected Essays of Grade Nine (2)
Ring, the wind chime on the other side
The breath of time blew the epic bagpipes; The fingertips of the breeze brushed the dense guqin in the forest.
In the dark, a fresh and elegant breath, through the hazy smoke lock, turned into crystal tears.
Winding mountain roads and verdant bamboo forests. The winding stone road at the foot is also covered with moss traces and a little bright green. Suddenly, I heard the bell ringing in the clouds. Suddenly, the mountains sounded and the valleys echoed, and I was on cloud nine. In the quiet twilight after the rain, everything was quiet. Spring water soaked in moonlight brings infinite comfort and reverie. Luhmann's fiddler is a stream flowing through the grass; The crisp plucker is a dripping spring leaking from the gap between stones; Magnificent steel pipes sing together, it must be that waterfalls fall into deep pools, clear water beats pebbles, and the splashing water looks radiant in the moonlight.
Sipping tea alone, till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon, the cold moonlight makes people relaxed and happy. The moonlight is dim, the tea is fragrant, and the heart is as calm as water, as if there is only one waning moon left between heaven and earth. Suddenly, there was fog and rain in the sky. The moon seems to be shrouded in mystery. Moonlight and the sky weave into a flowing splash-ink brocade in the silky water vapor.
Birds singing in the distance interweaves with the sound of spring water in the empty valley to form a concerto for the first month.
A dark cloud obscured the moonlight. The night is so deep. The wind dispersed the dark clouds and the moon showed broken light. Without the agility of the past, in the cold white sky in the east, dawn has moved its wings and spread around.
Five Selected Essays of Grade Nine (3)
Be grateful
Gratitude is beautiful, as beautiful as flowers. Fragrant, flowers appreciate the caress of spring breeze; The crystal dew is the gratitude of the flowers in the rain; Colorful, flowers are grateful for the long-term cultivation of the sun.
Gratitude is happy, happy as a bird. When winter comes and summer goes, birds appreciate the beauty of life; Sweet singing is the infatuation that birds appreciate their partners; Struggling to soar is the bird that thanks to the blue sky.
Gratitude is lofty, as lofty as a mountain. The clear voice is wonderful, which is the company of the mountain in the grateful flowing water; Green and straight, it is the grateful decoration of the mountains to the pine and cypress; Elegant and gorgeous, it is Gaoshan people's grateful dedication to Xia Yun.
Grateful to mother
Who conceived in October and gave birth once; Who washes and cooks, be caring and attentive; Who is operating silently, expecting; Who is a white-haired and haggard beauty? No matter how rich and full the fruit of our life is, it will always be the branch of our mother and her waist.
Thank you, teacher.
Who is the three-foot platform, waiting for you all your life; Who is conscientious and tireless; Who spreads knowledge and inherits civilization; Who irrigates peaches and plums and releases hope; Wax torch silkworm, no matter how magnificent the peak of our life is, will always be the teacher's teaching and motto.
Thanksgiving friends
Who is generous and timely assistance; Who is doing their best, * * * share joys and sorrows; Who cares about each other and never gives up; Who is heart-to-heart talk, sincere companionship, high mountains and flowing water, no matter how colorful the stage of our life is, the curtain call will always be friends' applause and friends' crying.
Learning to be grateful is a course that each of us must learn. Grateful heart will always accompany you and me, grateful songs will always haunt my ears, and grateful thoughts will always be in my heart. In this way, our life will be more exciting.
Five Selected Essays of Grade Nine (4)
Chinese
Chinese is the spark of human thinking, the development of civilization in the dark, the flower beyond time and space thinking, the bearing of the achievements of civilization in the last 5,000 years, and the footprint of human civilization since ancient times.
The bright moon is in the sky, and Chinese is the hazy tree of the moon; The blue sky is like washing, and language is the vast blue sky; It is the sun of generate at sea level; It is a song about wine, a heroic and helpless life geometry; It is the deep affection of the cave, the song of the river bank, and the eyes; It is a compilation of humiliation, anger and earth-shattering tears; It is the beauty and magic of Tianmu sleepwalking; The red chamber is poetic and dreamy, which is a love tragedy. It is the justice of looking at the strange face with a cold face; It is counting romantic numbers and looking at the majestic atmosphere.
Chinese has given me too much, warning of life, words of philosophers, countless legends and endless novels and romances. Chinese also tells me that the most beautiful flower of human thinking comes from hard work and thinking. When you are writing hard, your mind is full of thoughts and ideas. Suddenly, your eyes shine, your writing is like a spring, and your pen is like a spring. This is Chinese. When you appreciate Mona Lisa's mysterious smile, you are experiencing it with your heart. You want to resort to writing, but you can't find a similar language to describe it. This is Chinese. You have heard Beethoven's symphony of destiny, and its strong rhythm is shocking and makes you wake up, and it is in Chinese. Chinese is a jumping note, a rhythm of colorful symphonies, a clear spring flowing among bright moons and pines, and an implicit and peaceful picture in poetry.
Dajiangdong has gone to the waves and has been a romantic figure for thousands of years. Wei Wu has been whipped for more than a thousand years. Confucius said in Sichuan that the deceased is like a husband, and language is the imprint of flowing time. Five thousand years is like the Yangtze River and the Yellow River. Chinese is a red ribbon fluttering on the earth and the Garden of Eden of human spirit. Flowers are in full bloom, purple is in bloom, fragrance is floating, and little red is among evergreen trees.
This is Chinese, and rich answers come from colorful life.
Five Selected Essays of Grade Nine (5)
I'm alive and I'm happy.
A breeze blew across the calm lake surface, blowing up layers of ripples, and the swaying waves spread out in circles, spreading farther and farther, and the afterglow of the sunset sprinkled little spots on the lake surface. I am a small reed by the lake, swaying my weak figure in the breeze. I have no sadness and lingering like a willow, no relaxation and freedom like a snow-white cloud, and no intoxicating flowers.
I am a small reed, looking at the red sun and shyly hiding my face in the horizon, listening to the happy oriole whispering at rest and feeling the beautiful time of spring. I don't choose to escape because of loneliness, because I have a beautiful still lake, because I am alive, so I am happy.
A drizzle sneaked into the quiet forest, washed away the long-standing dust and left a brand-new world. Beads of rain fell gently on leaves and petals. I am a small wild chrysanthemum under the tree, sucking the dew of the earth in the drizzle. Without the elegance and diversity of peony; Without the beauty of roses, it is refreshing.
I am a small wild chrysanthemum, watching naughty stars blink around the moon, listening to the wonderful new songs played by the trickle, and enjoying everything that nature has given me.