Beautiful articles and essays

Beautiful articles and essays can bring us different feelings. The following are good-looking articles and essays that I recommend to you. I hope you will learn something.

American 1 Just want to be in front of Yu Guang.

Leave two eyes to see you.

You can also hug each other, so that you are not afraid of sudden changes.

But afraid to miss it.

I just hope I can hug and fall asleep in time.

Keep the warmest side in the world.

The vast sea of people warmed up.

The coldest day

-inscription

In winter, hibernate. It seems that from now on, in a real sense, I feel that it really exists.

I have been trying to delusion, with thin body, strong willpower, seemingly wearing clothes that are not heavy, to resist this cold winter. It lasted for a long time until early January, when I caught a glorious cold and suffered for a week.

My mother habitually urged me to put on my winter clothes at once. Monday to Friday is always a repetitive life, without any novelty. Wake up in my dream every morning, wash my face and brush my teeth in a hurry, go to work in the cold wind and go home at night.

I don't know when it started, Saturday and Sunday became the greatest happiness in life.

Although I don't know what I want to do, I just feel happy and don't want to stay at home. The weather forecast says it's MINUS 26 degrees, with a mild breeze. The old friend warned that if you are all right, don't go out, you will freeze to death.

It's no big deal, it's really no big deal, but it's really boring to stay.

Knowing that old friends are teaching nearby, fortunately, the old city is also small, and it won't take too long to go back and forth. I got up the courage to go out, and the result was a surprise, which made me laugh. This can't help but mean that a cold person's expression is stiff, his eyes look several times bigger than usual, he is trembling all over, and he is particularly energetic. He can't walk with normal steps, he can only jump around like a monkey.

Old friends say you are crazy to come out in such cold weather. I said yes, it's always raining in the wind, and I haven't been out in normal weather.

When I got home, it was like freezing to death. I lay motionless on the sofa, but I was still inspired. Seriously, every time this weather, inspiration will explode automatically. My brain is always very excited and active at this time. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. It looks like a novel.

Really, this thing really makes me helpless. Because every time I want to write a word, it can't think of anything, but it often appears when I stop writing. Over and over again, endlessly. I think I must have owed it a lot of money in my last life.

I know that you have to have classes nearby every night recently, but it's cold and still deadly. I'm freezing when I go out. It's strange that you don't cry when you go back Tell my mom I'm going out at night, and my mom won't let me go out, saying I'll freeze to death. When I said go out to buy food, I actually wanted to go out for a walk. I ran away without giving my mother time to answer. I went out, did nothing else, and blew cold air for more than ten minutes.

When you know it's cold, you have to pretend not to know when you go out, and then go out.

Don't tell me, I lied to myself and I really believed it myself.

Because I've always wondered what's going on in my head when I'm half cold.

If I can really wake up and end this winter, then I want to hibernate. If not, I hope I can slow down so that I can continue to visit you for a long time. Although the cold air makes our bodies tremble, as long as I hug you, I will feel warm. Makes me feel happy.

Who lost time and let the dream hibernate.

There is a tree in front of my window. It is a tall acacia.

In spring, acacia seems to be calmer than other trees. Poplars and willows in Ye Qingqing are all green, and they have just blossomed buds as big as rice grains: only a little hidden green, quiet but never noisy. A few days later, suddenly, clusters of grape-like buds covered the branches, like a light green dragonfly covered with branches-when it longed to fly, its thin wings were dyed a dazzling silver under the mild clouds in spring. That morning, you will be awakened by a flower fragrance in your dream, which is sweet and elegant, sultry, but nothing happened. When you find this fragrance and walk on the terrace above, your body shakes and your eyes light up, and suddenly the whole world is bright and magnificent: a tree full of white flowers rolls down like a waterfall. The petals like silver beads are floating slightly in the breeze, which makes people intoxicated and intoxicated.

I tried to hook a bunch of fresh Sophora japonica flowers with my hands and put them in my mouth one by one, like a holy kiss, sweet and cool. Swallow it gently, and your heart will be fragrant.

When the Sophora japonica flowers are in full bloom, I know that spring has really come. The manuscript paper spread out on the table is also smart. It was a little easy to write at that time.

In summer, acacia stands upright, lush and full of vitality. It often rains in summer, and when there are heavy rains, I prefer to stand by the window for a long time and look at my locust tree-it lets the wind blow the crown of the tree to something, and the green leaves of the tree roll, rotate, tremble and groan like an angry lion. Several times I thought it would be broken by the storm. Lightning and thunder lit up the dark moment, but I caught a glimpse of its trunk, but it was always sad. After the heavy rain, it gently shook off the water droplets on the tree, and pieces of finely smooth leaves were washed bright by the rain, full of moisture, serene and calm.

At that moment, I was deeply moved by it My heart seems to be clean and clear. The fresh moisture lingered on the desk after the rain. I wonder if this table is made of acacia. Otherwise, why do you still have a heavy mind?

Robinia pseudoacacia is accompanied by the green in spring and summer. In autumn, the sun coats the tree tops with gold. In a few days, the window has been resplendent and magnificent. When the autumn wind blows, the golden leaves of Sophora japonica fall like rain, and my thoughts are often interrupted by the rustling of leaves. I know this is the way to say goodbye. They never hugged each other, just waved to me without looking back. When they leave the locust tree, it's like getting rid of aging and getting rid of the old one. This is an inevitable fusion and renewal. They are thinning and withering day by day, sinking safely into the soil and recovering themselves. They need to recuperate, just as I need to forget all the cliches and find a new beginning. So staring at a mottled and broken tree, I don't feel so sad and sad-I know they will come again next year.

Acacia in winter is silent. It is naked and naked, showing me its straightness and pride. Perhaps no one has paid attention to its existence. It lives alone, but it also lives confidently and smartly. When the cold current shakes it, its black branches are like the solemn arms of a band conductor, directing the wind ensemble. After all the leaves have fallen, a brown bird's nest is exposed between the branches. Fat magpies pecked around on the branches and cried happily. Several sparrows flew to the balcony in search of food. Occasionally, the shadows of crows pass by in a hurry, creating an atmosphere of life, which makes me often guess the language of birds, perhaps reminding me of something. After the snow, the locust tree was covered with silver. Before the sun melts it, I really don't know if it is snow like Sophora japonica or Sophora japonica.

Year after year, I spent six spring and autumn years with my lovesickness. In this life, I have spent more time with Sophora japonica in silence than anyone else. This long and real day, my silent conversation with Sophora japonica constitutes a mysterious tacit understanding.

Nanxun is better than Nanxun, where there are many buildings, roads and red dust. Where can there be traces of ancient towns? I asked the local people, and they said: The old street is across the bridge. Sure enough, a small stream winds through, with old houses with deep courtyard and high walls on both sides, horse head walls, wooden doors and windows, stone thresholds, moss all over the old streets and alleys, and shops along the river corridor: pharmacies, teahouses, southern goods shops, fish shops and silk shops, just in time for the listing of new silk, and merchants are in droves and rows of noise.

Walking into the film city in the 1940s, the antique scenery is overwhelming: the ancient style of Ming and Qing Dynasties still exists, the word "wine" is still hung in the restaurant, red lanterns are hung on Qingshi Street, and Cantonese music of "Plum Blossom Three Alleys" floats from time to time in the alley next to the wooden house, mixed with the shouts of small hotels. ...

It is raining. I sat in an old armchair by the stream, enjoying the scenery in front of me. The water of this river or stream flows slowly and lightly, passing through the ancient Nanxun in the rain, as if I were meditating and telling the past history. Although it seems a little thin, it still retains the unique aura of this ancient town. Suddenly a cuckoo's cry interrupted my train of thought. I looked up and saw a mulberry picking girl carrying a bamboo basket and shuffling towards the stone bridge. The stone bridge is covered with moss, and an old mulberry tree covers the bridge deck. She stood on the high bridge with a skirt horn and a bright smile, much like the image of Nanxun!

The rain stopped and I walked happily into a deep yard. There are five or six orchids in a blue-and-white porcelain bottle, and the blue flowers are surrounded by long dark green leaves, which is extremely elegant. The stone gallery at the foot is as smooth as a mirror, and the raindrops under the eaves are still ticking. The magnolia beside the fence is also in bloom, full of flowers, as white as snow, and a breeze after the rain, with a fragrance, permeates the heart and spleen. Through this small yard, I stood on the old street by the river. The shops here are all unique, with the same color of water mill blue brick floor and wooden plaque, which is very solemn and elegant.

It can be seen that there are many cultural connotations here. The inscriptions on the doorstep were all written by celebrities at that time, and a good word would attract many audiences' praise. Judging from the cornices of those ancient houses and the black painted doors with copper rings and nails, the wealth of Nanxun is not comparable to that of ordinary Jiangnan water towns. The bluestone lion standing by the gate can also feel the massiness of time accumulation and the profound charm of its long culture.

Later, I visited Jiayetang Library, the former residence of Zhang Jingjiang, the richest man in the Republic of China, and Xiaolianzhuang, where flowers and trees are luxuriant. All of them revealed their luxuries in previous years, and all of them made people deeply chew the splendor and coolness that had already been lost. These fleeting clouds, like ink paintings written by painters, display once charming picture frames on Xuan paper, from which we can realize the ethereal and elegant artistic conception and the helpless desolation and sadness hidden behind the ethereal. ...