ʹַ .hg622.com

American Journal
Original beauty
Classic beauty
Emotional beauty
American essay
Mood log
Sad log
Emotion log
Article story
Classic articles
Philosophy of life
Motivational Articles
Sad article
touching stories
Mood story
Emotional story
love story
Prose Poetry
Classic prose
Lyrical prose
Love prose
Prose Essay
Modern poetry
Classic poetry
Appreciation of Poetry
short novel
Classic micro theory
Love is tiny
Touching little
Romantic love
Tammy Fan
light novel

Like rain, like watching rain, listening to rain

Time: 2013-07-08 Source: Reprinted Editor: Understand Reading: Times

It's raining, it's raining, my heart is immersed in incomparable joy . It's like meeting an acquaintance who hasn't met for a long time, and it's like welcoming a feast of life.

I like rain, I like watching the rain, and I like listening to the rain.

Rain is alive. She is like a woman with a transmuted personality, taking different steps, changing different expressions, sometimes rough, sometimes bold, sometimes gentle, sometimes gentle and pleasant. I like rain, I like all kinds of rain, torrential rain and turbulence like waterfalls, magnificent, like a galloping horse; moderate rain is round and mellow, crisp and refreshing, refreshing and pleasant; light rain, like weeping, complaining, lingering.

A drizzle at night, fluttering down on the earth, nourishing all living beings. Hold a book in your hand, or make a cup of tea, or sit, or lie down, or stand by the window, let the fine rain hit the heart wall bit by bit, the strings are beautiful, and the clinching. Ironing the heart, soothing the soul. The share of Jingya, the share of Enron, the share of steadiness, suddenly felt that all the earth was left behind. The heart suddenly floated very lightly.

Rain belongs to the literati. Since ancient times, rain has been the favorite image of passionate literati, and the theme of chanting is endless. She is the nostalgia of Youzi, a sensitive string away from people's hearts.

Indus is also drizzle. At dusk, every bit of bitterness, no matter how sad.

How much are you worrying about? Yichuan Tobacco, full city wind, plum plum yellow rain ...

Rain belongs to legend and belongs to myth.

A lingering rain on a broken bridge has created the enduring love myth of Bai Suzhen and Xu Xian for thousands of years; a confusing dream of Jiang Nanyu has established a generation of poets Dai Wangshu in the poetry, and also magically outlines a real and illusion Fairy-like resentment, sad, beautiful Lilac girl.

Rain belongs to the peasants who work hard all over the world. One of the four lucky things in life: Jiuhan meets Gan Lin. Rain, first.

When I was reading poems when I was young, at the noon of the day, sweat dripped into the soil, who knew that Chinese food was hard. Everyone knows the difficulty and hardship of peasants to plant grasses, but who ever thought that this seedling with dripping peasants' sweat and painstaking effort would be completely abandoned if it was not irrigated with timely rainwater.

"The good rain knows the season, when Chunnai happens, dives into the night with the wind, and the moisturise is silent." This should be a timely and thoughtful and joyful rain. The great poet Du Fu, who is well aware of the suffering of the people, described a life-saving drizzle vividly and vividly.

Living in the mountains in the north since childhood, I have a deeper understanding of rain. The memory of my hometown is always dry. It may be due to the thin soil layer. In the three seasons of spring, summer and autumn, the ground is mostly dry. Trees and crops scratch their heads and heads, like a group of yellow-skinned children.

The first thing to do with your eyes open every day is to pick up water. There is a mountain spring under the North Mountain three or four miles away from home, clear and sweet. Watching every day, the hard-working parents rushed to the foot of the mountain to pick up water early in the morning, my brothers and I were eager to try. I really want to help my parents and share some tiring. But it wasn't until later that picking up water became a task that we must complete every day.

When he was about ten years old, he and his brother carried a bucket of water together three to four times a day. The pressure on the shoulders was red and swollen. By the age of fourteen or fifteen, I had to pick water myself. At the beginning, I started to pack two and a half barrels, with both hands crooked and crooked all the way, swaying and panting. Pick a trip and I don't know how many times to rest. Fortunately, the crops by the side of the road, the grass and wild flowers on the grass, and the swirling and flying butterfly bees temporarily brought a rare beauty and fun to the heavy water-carrying road, and also added a little bright to the pale youth Colors.

But as it turned into summer, the sky became drier. The sun was shining violently, the crops were all pulling their heads, the puppies were lying under the poplar trees and their tongues were stretched out, the dam Xiaowang was all dried up, and his dry lips were cracked. Even the lovely Beishan Spring is in short supply. People are eagerly looking forward to the arrival of a rain. Some elderly people also secretly scented at home, hoeing like garlic, praying to God to show mercy, and to drop Ganlin.

Xu is a grass-roots citizen, and people talk lightly, God, still numb with a face, and turn a blind eye. It was still under fire, and everyone was red-eyed. The ground is getting drier, and it is difficult for people to drink water. The adults gathered and fought overnight, digging a well more than ten meters deep at the lowest part of the dam, and several turbulent small water flows slowly reluctantly, temporarily maintaining the villagers' draught problem.

But there are many less monks, and there is a line of fetching water. Sometimes I rushed in the early morning, but as a result, people with more hands and feet took the lead. Holding buckets, pots and pots, sitting in the cracked earth dam and waiting, looking up at the bright sun, how longing that Sun Wukong, who can turn over eighteen thousand miles, suddenly appeared in the sky, holding his hand. The green banana fan shook gently, and the rain flowed down.

That thorough, cool, heart-wrenching rain!

Because of this special memory , I always feel worried. So I got close to every rain of nature, and cherished every drop of water in my life. Whenever I see news that the groundwater level has dropped dramatically, I am worried and scared. I'm afraid to look at those shocking numbers. But what I saw and heard around me disappointed and chilled me.

Relatives were washing clothes in the yard, the electric pump was turned on, and the water rushed out, half used and half drained. I reminded her to pay attention, but she said very easily: This is groundwater and it doesn't cost any money. I went to the bathhouse to take a shower. I saw a college student who had just graduated went to the bath to wash the faucet, but the clean water rushed to the ground. My heartache, I worry, if our groundwater level continues to drop rapidly, will we be thirsty without water for a few years, and then we will look forward to a rain? And that rain, but it will be slow coming!

Rain, you human spirit, angel of heaven! Let us treat a rain well, like our loved ones; cherish a rain, cherish nature's selfless gift; thank a rain, thank God Infinite pity for us! Every drop of rain in life is not only poetry, love, painting, but also the enduring source of our lives!

    • share to:
      ------ Divider ----------------------------
      Please consciously abide by Internet-related policies and regulations. Pornographic, violent, and reactionary statements are strictly prohibited.
      latest comment
      Recently Popular Classic Prose