Composition about the temperature in the palm of your hand

Chapter One: The Temperature of the Palm

From the time I was born to now, my mother’s hands have often touched me gently. On the road of growing up, the most familiar thing is the temperature of my mother’s palm. .

On a winter night, the cold wind was blowing wildly, and the poplar trees outside were so cold that they could not straighten their backs. My hands that were red from the cold were working hard on my homework, and the cold was accompanying me invisiblely. The door was quietly opened, gentle footsteps getting closer and closer to me, a pair of warm hands held my frozen hands, and a warm current flowed into my heart. I could hear my mother's heartbeat. I held my mother's hand, and my heart felt warm. I could clearly feel the temperature of my mother's palm. I asked my mother: "Why are your hands so warm?" My mother smiled and said: "Mom is an adult. As long as you grow up, you can be so warm."

I have grown up slowly, My hands also grew bigger and my hands became warmer.

But after that midterm exam, to be honest, I did very poorly. When my mother asked me about it, I answered truthfully. My mother criticized me a few times, but I talked back a few times. Later, my mother slapped me in anger, and my face felt hot. I cried aggrievedly and felt a little irritable. At this time, she walked in gently with a glass of warm milk and said, "Let's drink a glass of milk first...!" Before I finished speaking, I pushed her away angrily. "Pop!" The cup fell to the ground, and the milky white liquid flowed all over the floor, mixed with crystal fragments. I was stunned, opened my mouth, and was about to bend down to pick up the debris on the ground. Mom knelt down and held my hand with her broad palm. I used to think that my hands were getting warmer as they got bigger, but now I found that my mother’s hands were even warmer. I held my mother’s hand with my backhand, and the warmth of my mother’s palm flowed into my palm. My heart was touched and I felt very happy. He put down his mother's hand and lowered his head. There were tears in his eyes, but he didn't dare to shed them. My mother tenderly stroked away the tears from the corners of my eyes, and said cautiously: "My child, does it hurt? Mom is too excited, please forgive me..."

After many years, the warmth in my mother's palms is still there. In my heart, I know that it is not just the warmth of hands, it is the warmth of love, the deep, hot maternal love, which gives me strength, gives me confidence, and accompanies me to move forward bravely.

Chapter 2: The temperature of the palm

My father’s palms are broad, powerful and delicate. Maybe the word “delicate” is not suitable to describe a man’s hands, but my father’s palms are indeed It really brought a delicate touch to my soul, and my eyes were slightly moistened many times, all because of the warmth in the palm of my hand.

The temperature in my father’s palm was very low, like ice on a snow-capped mountain, making people shiver. When the twelve o'clock bell rang, the hateful demon quietly landed on the little girl's body. My stomach suddenly hurt, as if it was being bitten by something. I instinctively woke up my father, and with his sleepy eyes, he quickly helped me put on my coat, lifted me up with his strong hands, and held me in his arms. The wind was howling, and the desolate moonlight exuded a compelling aura in the cold air. On the way to the hospital, my father ran as hard as he could without stopping to rest for such a long distance. Finally arriving at the hospital, my father wiped away the tears on my face due to the pain with his own hands and said softly: "The baby is not afraid, dad is here!" Only then did I look at my father carefully and suddenly realized , little beads of sweat covered his forehead. Suddenly, a chill ran across my face. My father's hands were so cold! I instinctively dodged, and then I took my father's hand and let my face touch his palm again. The cool feeling suddenly made me feel comfortable and beautiful. Instead of making me cold, this temperature gave me warmth in my soul.

The temperature in my father’s palm is very gentle, like a warm spring breeze, making people relaxed and happy. When the bell of failure rang, I, who was strong and confident, panicked and found it difficult to cope. I was just wandering alone on the street, looking for the exit that might not exist at all, looking around helplessly. Suddenly a big hand touched my hand, and he held my hand, silently watching the resurrection of all things. Moving forward in the season, I just walked in the direction he walked, not knowing where my father's hand would lead me. My father's footsteps stopped, and I had no reason to continue moving forward. My father pointed at a corner of the sky with his other hand, and there was a rainbow. In an instant, the air was filled with notes of joy and freedom. He pretended to be relaxed and said: "How can we find the exit if we just stay where we are? If we move forward boldly, there may be hope." Tears flooded his eyes and then flowed down his face. They were the calm and calm tears of enlightenment. . Those hands wiped away my tears again, letting me feel the warmth of his palms. This kind of temperature is not only gentle, but also a warm current that continues to heat up, flowing through my heart...

My father is used to wiping my tears with his palms, letting me enjoy the beauty of love, father The temperature in the palm of my hand makes me feel the temperature of love...

The warmth of father's love penetrates into my heart.

Part Three: Essay on the Temperature of the Palm

Thirty-six degrees Celsius is the temperature of a cup of warm water. At this time, the water is warm but not hot, clear but not cold; thirty-six degrees Celsius , to balance the temperature of the human body, which makes the human body strong and energetic. Thirty-six degrees Celsius is the temperature in the palm of your hand, warm, like the spring breeze blowing, bringing a burst of floral fragrance.

When I open the door of memory, there is always a scene lingering in front of my eyes: I am holding my father’s hand and drowning in the endless flow of the road. When I was a child, I was always lively and energetic. Sometimes I would follow the puppy and jump around, sometimes I would pick flowers planted by my neighbor's grandmother, and I would even squat down and watch the ants carry food. When my father sees me in this situation, he always smiles and lets me go. But as soon as I reached the road, his big crab-like pincers stretched out, grabbed my wrist, and "escorted" me to the other side of the road like a chicken. Dad's hands were rough and covered with deep calluses, which hurt me like tree bark. At first, I resisted and yelled at him: You hurt me! But he came over with a smile on his face, held the hand that was about to run away, and pulled me reluctantly through the endless flow of the world. Later, the annual rings of time increased little by little, and everything remained the same. However, as I was as tall as my father, I held his hand to avoid the blasts of whistles. Thirty-six degrees Celsius is the temperature of my father’s hands, protecting my safety.

Time flies like an arrow, the sun and the moon fly by, and the pace of time keeps accelerating. When I entered junior high school, the warmth in my palms was still there. Every time after dinner, we would walk along the long plastic track, holding hands and talking about trivial things. The dusk in the evening is very warm, just like the temperature of a friend's palm. Holding hands and looking at the jewel-like sky, the flaming red sun, and the snowflake-like clouds, sometimes they would pretend to be "talented girls" and recite some poems such as "The sunset is infinitely beautiful, but it's almost dusk"; or they would go to the school railing. New life: there are kapok in spring, morning glory in summer, maple leaves in autumn, and in winter only bare tree trunks are left to accompany us to enjoy the scenery. The palms of 36 degrees Celsius will always bring me a little bit of warmth during a day of unremarkable study, adding a finishing touch to a day's life. Thirty-six degrees Celsius is the temperature of a friend’s palm, which brings me support.

Thirty-six degrees Celsius is the temperature of the palm of your hand. Hold the hand of the one you love! That warm thirty-six degrees Celsius will accompany you all over the world, spreading the seeds of love to the earth, and then harvesting love and tasting love together.

Chapter Four: The Temperature of the Palm

The temperature of your palm is like a ray of sunshine, melting the ice and snow in my heart; the temperature of your palm is like a spring breeze, soothing my heart. My wounded heart; the warmth of your palm is like a bright light, illuminating my soul.

What a sunny day it was! The bright sunshine fills the entire sky, and the earth is full of vitality. Every place reveals the breath of spring. Taking advantage of the sunny weather, I rode my bicycle around the flower beds in the community, enjoying the beauty that spring has brought to me. Suddenly, "bad luck" befell me. When I was going down the steps, I tripped over a stone and fell heavily to the ground. My hand was scratched. The burning pain was unbearable. How I wish I could have a pair of hands reaching out to me at this time! But these hands have not appeared for a long time. At this time, a familiar figure appeared in front of me and stretched out her hands to me. When I held her hand, I felt the warmth in her palm, which immediately melted all the ice and snow in my heart. I stood up and looked back, and it turned out to be my mother. She smiled and said to me, "You little fool, you will fall down if your mother is not here!" I ran back home without saying anything more.

My first monthly exam results came in. Faced with my very disappointing results, I couldn’t believe it. After I got home, I didn't dare to let my mother know, so I didn't mention it until after dinner. After dinner, my mother asked me: "How was it? Have your monthly test results come in?" I knew I couldn't hide it from her, so I showed her the report card. I have always chosen to remain silent because I was afraid that my mother would be too disappointed. And when my mother read the report card, I said, "Mom, I'm sorry to disappoint you!" Suddenly, my eyes were wet with tears. At this time, my mother stretched out her warm hands again and wiped away my tears. I felt the warmth of her palms again, which soothed my injured heart.

In the first half of the first semester of junior high school, my academic performance plummeted and suddenly reached more than 400. At that time, I was tired of studying. After finishing my homework, I played games and watched TV all day long. Read and review. My mother saw all this, but she only said to me: "Let's play!" And when I accidentally flipped through the book, I saw a piece of paper inside, which was my mother's brief diary: The child is now In adolescence, she should enjoy a happy childhood, and I cannot limit her happiness! After reading this, tears burst out of my eyes, and tears fell down my cheeks. At this time, my mother came in, she hugged me, and I could feel the warmth of her palms, shining through my soul and guiding me.

If I can learn to give warmth to others, if I can learn to soothe the hearts of others, if I can influence and lead others - I have to thank my mother.

Chapter 5: The temperature of the palm

A drop of rain falls on the palm, and soon it will not be so cold. A snowflake fell on the palm of my hand and soon it melted. So, I was curious about what the temperature in my palm was.

So, I started to recall things related to my hands, so I thought of my mother.

At the age of five, when I was dreaming, my mother always led me and held my hand. I also held my mother’s hand. Those hands were as white as jade, delicate and smooth, and my mother’s hands It's always warm. My hand seems to be under my mother's spell. I place it honestly in my mother's hand and hold her hand tightly, for fear that my mother will let go, because I like the warmth of my mother's hand. I like the happy feeling of holding my mother's hand, and I don't let go even when I sleep. My mother's hand has accompanied me through my childhood.

Ten years old, the age of playing. My mother is still holding my hand, but those hands cannot withstand the tempering of the years. They are no longer the same hands as before, but although they are not as delicate as before, they are still so warm and warm. I hold my mother's hand, but when When I encounter something fun and good-looking, I will throw away my mother's hand, my heart will fly elsewhere, and I will ignore my mother's calls and go play by myself. My mother's hand accompanied me through my stubborn years.

Fifteen years old, the age of flying. My mother tried to hold my hand again, but I wanted to break away from those hands. I thought I could fly, but I was wrong. I broke away from my mother's hand but could not break away from my mother's love, and I did not have the ability to fly.

But when I held my mother’s hand again, the hands had changed. They were no longer delicate and warm, but were replaced by roughness and coldness. I was afraid, because I realized that my mother was old, and when I grew up, I understood that I should take care of my mother and experience my mother's painstaking efforts. So, I held my mother's hand firmly and thought When I was five years old, I grabbed my mother's hand and gave her warmth. My mother had gray hair and her hands were much older, and all of this made me sad. In this way, I held my mother's hand and walked through the flower season.

I know that my mother has aged a lot because of me. She exchanged her youth for my happiness, and now I finally understand that the temperature in the palm of my hand is the temperature of love, the love of love. The more warmth you give to others, the more warmth you give to others, but less and less warmth is left to yourself.

My mother warmed me with the warmth of her own palms, and why can’t I use the warmth of my life to warm my mother!

Chapter Six: The Temperature of the Palm

The temperature of the palm is the warm sun, shining on my heart, melting the tip of the iceberg; the temperature of the palm is the sweet rain and dew, nourishing me My soul has cultivated countless flowers; the temperature in my palm is a bright lamp, illuminating my soul and the road ahead.

I remember that winter, it was snowing heavily, the wind was howling, and there were very few pedestrians on the road. Occasionally, two or three people walked by in a hurry, wrapped in coats, and walked quickly, but there was no one there. Be willing to stay on the street. I walked slowly on the street alone and seemed very out of place. The strong wind whistled across my face. I didn’t know where I was going. I walked to the door of your house without knowing it. After thinking about it, I walked into the corridor. I knocked on your door, and after a while you came out, opened the door, looked at me very surprised, and asked, why are you here? It's so cold outside, come in. When I entered your house, I realized that it was so cold outside. It was so cold that it could make people suffocate. I didn't even notice it. I sat on the sofa and you sat next to me. I lowered my head and didn’t know what to say. You stretched out your hand and held mine, saying what’s wrong? Why don’t you go home? You hold my hand, hold it gently, your hand is very warm, like the spring sun has driven away the coldness in my heart, leaving only that warm ray of sunshine, although it is only a ray, it is Enough to illuminate and warm my heart. I couldn't bear it anymore, I hugged you and cried bitterly. You didn't ask why, because you knew I didn't want to say it. You just hugged me and patted my back gently with your hands and said, "Cry, it's okay." Just cry. After a while, I gradually calmed down. You gently wiped away the tears on my face with your hands, touched my head lovingly, and said what's going on? You scared me when you cried. Then you I patted myself on the shoulder and said, I really hate staining my clothes, so I shouldn't cry next time. I smiled, took your hand, and shook your hand firmly. It’s almost lunch time. You want to keep me here to eat. I shook my head. I’ve already wasted the whole morning. How can I have the nerve to stay here again? Then you sent me home. The weather was still very cold, but I was very warm.

It’s really worth having a friend like you in my life. You remind me not to be proud when I succeed, encourage me when I fail, and give me the strongest support when I’m down. You make me understand that I’m not a People, I still have you by my side.

I found that the palm of your hand is warm, and the temperature of your palm will never change, because the temperature of your palm always carries love. Composition

Chapter Seven: The Temperature in the Palm

I will grow up and you will grow old, but I will never forget the temperature in your palm.

——Inscription

I remember when I was still young, I was holding you with my left hand, and you were holding me with your right hand. Walking on the muddy road to grandma's house. My little hand sank into your palm. Although it was a little painful from the calluses, it was warm and safe.

In the summer vacation of third grade, you took me to the zoo. I was so excited that I felt a little overwhelmed, holding your right hand and looking around.

When I saw the liger park, I was like a little beast that couldn't hold back its curiosity and couldn't wait to rush in. But you secretly used your strength to pull me back. When that liger beast covered with black and white lines came into my eyes, I couldn't hold it back any longer. I struggled to break away from your right hand that was holding me tightly. Ignoring your anxious eyes, I ran towards That extremely strange animal.

Just one step away from the cage, the cute liger suddenly roared. I was so frightened that I subconsciously threw myself into your arms, howling loudly, crying out of my heart. The fear, crying out the uneasiness in my soul, I hold your hand tightly, trying to gain more sense of security.

You leaned down, patted my shoulder with one hand, comforted me, and held me tightly with the other hand. Although your palms were full of cold sweat and the calluses made me ache, they gave me a huge sense of security and gradually eased the fear in my heart. The warmth in the palm once again made me feel the warmth surrounding my young heart.

I have graduated from elementary school and I have grown up, but I still like to hold your right hand and the feeling of warmth and security.

Now, I am in junior high school and have grown into a big girl. You have also become a little old man. The years have left you countless scars that cannot be healed. We have all changed a lot, but the temperature in your palm has never changed, and it still gives me a lot of safe and warm feelings.

The opening ceremony of junior high school had just ended, and I caught a glimpse of you who was about to take me home. I ran to you quickly, and you smiled and said, "Miaomiao, junior high school is a new journey. You have to work hard!" I answered you and talked with you while walking. You still hold my left hand as always, and I still hold your right hand as usual, still feeling the warm and safe feeling.

As the moon changes and the stars change, I begin to pay attention to your every change. Your hair becomes greasy, and short black or white hair begins to appear on the pillow where you sleep. Although your temples are not pale yet, they are no longer as lush as before. But you have to know that in my heart, you will always have a smile in the corners of your eyes, and your figure will never change.

The calluses on your palms are much thicker, but it makes the home bigger, warmer and happier. I still like holding your right hand - it's thicker, warmer, and still so safe. Whenever I look at your palm carefully, I always think: Dad, my daughter will hold your thick and warm hand just like you held mine when I was a child, and stay with you until you grow old!

Chapter 8: The temperature in the palm of his hand

The temperature in his palm is enough to melt ice and snow.

——Inscription

After school, I turned my head and glanced out the window. The sky and the sky were completely white. "Hey! It's snowing again!" The originally pure and simple white was particularly dazzling in the eyes of me, a fourth-grade junior high school student, because of the dim street lights.

Walking out of the school gate as usual, I saw the tall figure at first glance, and then looked at each other, and the schoolbag naturally fell on his shoulders. We, tall and short, walked side by side towards home. go. The whole set of actions was carried out without any words, just like this silent night in the snow.

Halfway through, he suddenly stopped me and said, "It seems to be very hard recently. Let's, let's relax a little. How about having a snowball fight?" As he said that, he grabbed it from the ground. A ball of snow. "When has it been? Why are you still playing this boring thing with me?" I said these words without thinking and looked at him angrily. The upward curve of his mouth gradually faded away from the corner of his mouth, and the snow in his hand gradually flowed from between his fingers and hit the ground.

I looked at the snow in his hand that was about to melt in amazement. His rough palm actually melted the ice and snow, but why couldn't he soothe my heart that was scarred by heavy studies? Recalling his warm words just now, I suddenly felt that it wasn't that he couldn't, but that I didn't want to.

As a teenager with a hint of rebelliousness, I have been extremely agitated since entering the fourth grade of junior high school. I have lost the intimacy I used to have with my parents, and even necessary communications have been reduced to the simplest. words. But what remains unchanged is that the dishes and chopsticks are set for me every day on the dining table, and there is always a full bottle of hot water in my schoolbag...

The white color is multiplying, covering the space where I stand. Suddenly, I felt that the old father in front of me was a sacrifice made for me, and now, he melted the ice and snow with the warmth of his palm, and warmed my heart that had been lost for a long time.

"Dad, let's start!" Before he could react while standing there, a snowball flew to his head. In this way, we are like two happy clowns who make the originally lonely night interesting.

On the way home, I held his hand and felt a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time, which warmed my little hands and even my heart.

Precisely because I arrived in the snow that night, I felt the warmth of his palm, like happiness, full and overflowing in my heart.