Family path composition

The composition on the way home can show not only ability, but also writing a composition is not just a single diary. If you want to write a good composition, you must pay more attention to observation and reading, and you can write your true feelings over time. Let's take a look at the essay "The Way Home".

Composition on the way home 1 It's wonderful to go home! I haven't been home for a long time, because I study hard and have no time at all. After the exam, the school had a day off. I didn't even bother to tidy up my clothes, so I put on my schoolbag and set foot on my way home.

Get off and cross a small street and pass a small camphor tree forest. There are not many trees in the forest, but every tree is flourishing, with its branches sticking out and surrounded by layers, overlapping, crowded and crowded, so that the morning sun in early spring can only shed its glory on the top of this forest. Occasionally, one or two points land. As soon as the breeze passed, these little guys began to jump. The earth sings for the typhoon and they dance!

Around the forest, there are several plots dedicated to planting trees and grass. These grasses are next to each other. Under the sunlight, each plant and each cluster seems to have transparent crystal beads on it, shining and shining. They seem to be playing and making noise. As soon as you get close, they all hide and disappear, leaving only the grass that has not had time to look around.

There is a dwarf tree on the roadside, or there are several pink peach trees in the middle. It's a peach tree with small pink fruits on the top. Let people feel the beauty of jade peach blossom, which is pink. It seems to spread from the flower stand, like pink smoke at the tip of the flower, until it reaches the sky, and the whole sky is dyed pink by it! They are randomly distributed on the stems of peach trees, bringing the polished peach trees that have lost their vitality back to life. A closer look shows that it is not so much a peach blossom as a flower bone bud. Because most branches are flowering bones, only a few are blooming flowers. Yes, it is a bud. The base is wrapped in several fluffy yellow-green leaflets, and some of them are all wrapped, only revealing pink corners, which is particularly cute.

I can't say what the name of the tree by the roadside is, but I can see that it has big dark green leaves, but the small leaves are a little yellow and red, like they have just been washed, shining under the caress of the sun. I picked a piece gently. Facing the sun, the small Ye Er tree was translucent, which made it dazzling as if it had been soaked in oil. But when you touch it with your hands, you have to deny your previous idea: the leaves are crisp, not even half a drop of water, but as soft as a baby's skin, and you can't bear to throw them away at once.

Climb the terraced fields and shuttle among the golden rape flowers. Almost all the fields are planted with rape. Looking around, a large area is gold. The terraces are layered, and the golden rape flowers are naturally layered. Occasionally, there will be one or two moths flying over the rape flowers and dancing with the youth. Although there are no butterflies, there are also graceful figures, which bring a lot of fun to the flowers. Because the flowers are very dense, many petals of cauliflower are rubbed on my head, and the powder on cauliflower is also stained on my schoolbag, which reminds me of the legendary flower fairy, and I suddenly feel much lighter.

With the singing of birds standing on a willow tree that just sprouted, I couldn't help singing Zhu Ziqing's Spring: "The grass slipped out of the soil and was green. In the garden, in the field, look, a large area is full of yes. Sit, lie down, roll twice, kick a few balls, run a few laps, grab a few laps. The wind is calm and the grass is soft. "

The night after the autumn rain, the cold air eroded every cell of me, and I couldn't help hiding my face in my collar.

The eight-hour boring description made me have no intention to appreciate the golden red street after the autumn rain, and walked quickly on the long street covered by night with the drawing board on my back. Shadow dancing, a gust of wind blowing dead leaves all over the floor, this story on the way home.

I used to stand at the gate of the community and watch the lamp you left me at the end of that long street, and my heart would be warm. You know I'm afraid of the dark, but I can't go downstairs to pick me up in time because of my leg illness, so I turn on the balcony light every time I go home and tell me not to be afraid.

Whether it's stormy or freezing, as long as I can see the warm yellow light from the solitary lamp on the fifth floor when I get home, I'm no longer afraid of the darkness that tempts me.

In this way, I gradually regarded this warmth as an eternal existence, but I didn't find that the gluttonous time was devouring the happiness I had but didn't cherish.

On the morning of your death, I lost my temper with you for getting up. I slammed the door and didn't even look at your breakfast.

Who would have thought that would be the last time I saw you? I was so careless that I broke the last cup of heart.

I still remember that in the afterglow of the sunset, I helped you walk slowly home in this street. You said, "Yan Zi, if you want something, just tell grandma and she will buy it for you. Don't be afraid of your mother. If she' bullies' you, tell me and I will tell her ... "Every sentence is full of infinite spoil.

Everything seems to be yesterday, but how did you disappear?

I wear your laundry, live in the room you clean, eat every meal you cook and enjoy everything your labor brings. Your departure, in a hurry and silently, took away all my good memories, but I never had a chance to say "sorry" to you again.

I can't imagine how you felt that morning. Facing your unfilial granddaughter, is your heart as cold as the breakfast I neglected? I often think of the last time I saw you: short and thin body, wrinkled face, bright eyes, and complicated eyes-encouragement, expectation, disappointment and sadness.

At this time, walking on the way home, the same night, the same street, when I looked up again, I saw what I was most afraid of, not the night, but your departure. I lowered my eyelids and vaguely felt your breath in this bleak autumn wind.

Grandma, did you have a good time in heaven? The ground there must be covered with white feathers, like a fairy tale world! Don't worry, I'm not afraid of the dark, because I believe that you have always been there, perhaps turning into the wind and rain of this world, accompanying me to grow up silently; Maybe it turned into the light of this world, burning in the dark, illuminating the way home and guiding my past and future home.