Seeking composition: It smells like this.

There is a faint taste called happiness.

The faint taste is called happiness. That's all I can see. I finally know, in fact, she has always made me feel happy.

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My eyes, at that moment, fell on a pair of hands. ...

My mother took me to school.

I walked into the elevator with a heavy bag in my hand. But I don't think it weighs much. Maybe I'm waiting for someone to save me.

Mother locked the door in a hurry, followed the elevator and the door closed.

Mom saw the big bag in my hand and quickly took it. Maybe this is my waiting.

The elevator reached the first floor, the door opened and I went out. Behind him came the sound of the elevator door closing. I look back:

Mother leans over and her steps are a little messy. Her two hands are struggling to grasp the big bag, and the tendons in her hands are clearly visible. She seems to be angry with the heavy load and seems to be falling apart. Her hands kept changing places, as if to use the moment of communication to relieve stress. A few strands of hair slipped to her forehead, as if to cover her frowning brows soaked in sweat. ...

"Can I help you?"

"No, you go first." Can I help you? Yes, I did say that. The bag is mine, but I asked, can I help you?

We came to a road, the red light was flashing, and then we jumped on the yellow light.

Mother let go of a hand holding a handbag. She held me tightly with that hand, but I didn't hold her tightly. Obviously, I felt a deep dent in her hand. Did you leave it when you were carrying a bag? I really want to ask her if she hurts. But I know I won't tell.

On the school bus, my mother found a window seat. She pressed the bag on the seat next to me. I turned and looked out of the window.

She combed my hair with her hand. At that moment, my eyes fell on a pair of hands, dim, rough and tired. ...

Mom, when did your hands become like this?

I finally know that she tried to make me feel happy without reservation. At that moment, I understood, mom …

The school bus began to drive slowly, and your figure gradually blurred outside the window, vaguely seeing you waving to me.

My eyes once again fell on your hands, clear, I saw happiness. ...

There is such a smell-the smell of mother.

I once read an article "The Taste of Mom" by Shu Ting in Reader, and now I want to borrow it. I've been thinking, my mother, what's that smell?

A few days ago, my mother came to Cang to visit her relatives who were ill in hospital, and dropped by my house. In a few days, my mother was busy and had no time to be idle.

Every day when I get home, as soon as I enter the gate of the yard, there is a strong smell of food going straight to my nostrils. Then, like a child who came back from school, I ran with small steps and shouted, "Mom, I'm back!" " "I only heard a voice full of love and joy in the kitchen, in the thick fragrance and lingering steam:" Hey-"

I put down my handbag and jumped into the kitchen. My mother is busy tying an apron and sleeves! On the chopping board, pot, plate, meat, vegetarian food, dry food and thin food, all the preparations are ready, some are ready, and some are being done. I rolled up my sleeves and said with a little regret and happiness:

"What can I do?"

"No, just get ready for dinner." Mom said that she quickly poured a small basket of vegetables into the oil pan and quickly stir-fried it with a shovel, making a sizzling sound. A mass of hot air wrapped in fragrance quickly rushed to her face.

My mother always laughs when she sees our family gobble up her cooking, and the fine wrinkles around her eyes are filled with joy.

In the small courtyard, pomegranate trees fell to the ground and the yellow leaves were cleaned up. Looking up, under the clear and broad blue sky, the white and bright sunshine is shining gently on the ground and on my body through the sparse branches, which is warm.

Bed sheets, quilts, pillowcases, unwrapped quilt covers, and daughter's clothes, pink, fruit green, light blue and lotus roots, hung all over the yard like colorful flags, swaying gently in the autumn sunshine and breeze, giving off the smell of grass and flowers. I buried my nose in it, took a few breaths, and the breath slowly spread all over my body with my breath.

The floor, the table and even every corner of the room were spotless by my mother. The carnations on the windowsill, I don't know when, quietly bloomed pink flowers. Against the backdrop of the green leaves with water droplets that my mother had just sprayed, they were so delicate and charming that they exuded a charming fragrance that seemed to be nonexistent. The small and crowded hut is spacious and bright, revealing a kind of warmth and comfort.

At that moment, I knew a feeling called happiness, which quietly filled me and surrounded me like the tide. I'd rather be the one who drowned.

My mother comes to stay with me for a while every year. If nothing else, in my mother's words, I will work for my family for a few days. When you are busy with work, you have no time to do housework. It's good to be able to cook cooked rice. Every time before I come, my mother will call me and say in a tentative tone: Do you want me to go? I quickly said: Yes! She is worried that her arrival will affect our work. To tell the truth, I have some contradictions in my heart. I am willing to enjoy my mother's love, but I can't bear to watch my mother work for us.

Mom is a clean person. I insist on washing clothes by hand, saying that the washing machine is not clean. Moreover, he never takes a break when he works, and always goes all out and never gives up when he is finished. Mother's waist is not good, so after working for half a day, she is always tired and sore. But my mother never said anything, only in the silent night, when she dreamed back at midnight, she heard my mother sigh slightly and turn over gently. At that time, my heart was always full of deep guilt

On Sunday, I have nothing to do at home. I tidied up the wardrobe and dug out some cotton-padded clothes, trousers and shoes that my mother sewed for my daughter when I was a child. This is simply a work of art. Fine and symmetrical stitches sew the love of the elders for their children inside. I remember persuading my mother that everything can be bought in the market now. If you are in poor health and your eyes are worn out when you are old, you don't have to do it again. Why bother? Mom always stubbornly said: what I bought is not wear-resistant, or what I made is affordable! I won't argue again, I know this is my mother's heart. I will cherish these little clothes and shoes, just like my mother's love.

Mother is a careful person. Constantly improve her work. As long as there is something that doesn't look pleasing to the eye, she will tear it down and do it again, breaking up half a day's hard work. According to my sister, we once made a daughter's cotton-padded coat for us to take when we went back to the sky, and stayed up until midnight 12. After listening to this, I felt very sour and uncomfortable.

One winter, because there was something urgent at home, my mother hurried back without lunch. At the station, among the people coming and going, I saw my mother's aging face. On her white face, I don't know when I grew a few age spots, like a black butterfly. Under the baptism of years, the wrinkles around the eyes are getting deeper and deeper. Gray hair, drilling out from the hair roots, floats freely in the cold wind. Thin veins stood out suddenly and violently, and noodles were still stuck on my hands, and the flour accidentally rubbed on the tip of my nose could not be wiped off. Mother urged me to say:

"Hurry back, schedule (daughter's name) it's time for school. I steamed a pot of steamed bread for you, stewed cabbage and tofu, and the pot is still hot. " At that moment, my tears couldn't help anymore. I turned around and secretly wiped them off. ...

It's not easy for my mother to raise four children all her life, and now they all go their separate ways. Every holiday, my sisters get together and talk nonstop. My mother always sits quietly and looks at us and smiles without saying a word. Once I tentatively said in my mother's ear, half jokingly: Do you miss us? Mom smiled shyly and said, I don't want to. However, I can feel that my mother is not confident when she says this sentence.

Sometimes I was busy at work and didn't call home for two days. My mother will call me and tell me some trivial things in my life. For example, don't cover the shrimp paste brought home from home in a plastic bag, brush a bottle and put it in. Green onions should be kept in a cool and ventilated place, not exposed to the sun. It is said that the weather will change these two days, and it is time to put on wool pants for Cheng Cheng. Wait a minute. Every time I am happy but obviously a little impatient, I say, I see! However, my mother's concern is even lonely, and I clearly feel it.

Every child has his own story, either plain or tortuous. In the children's stories, mothers are either laughing or sad. I understand her inner pain and helplessness just as I understand her pride and glory. She often tells us: I am old, and your good is my good.

Now, my mother has been back to her hometown for several days. Every day, when I come home and look at the still clean and refreshing hut, I feel the smell of my mother, which still permeates the hut. What is that smell? Shu Ting said: "Who can tell what the mother's taste is? If you must describe it, use an inappropriate metaphor. My mother is similar to mint, light green, cool, and Chinese medicine is a bit bitter. "

Savor carefully, I think my mother's taste is the taste of sunshine, warm and comfortable; It is the taste of flowers, sweet and fragrant; It is the smell of grass, fresh and refreshing; Mother's taste is the taste of years, ancient vicissitudes; The smell of mother is the smell of love, for a long time!