Sentences about yellow leaves

On the forest path, golden leaves were scattered all over the floor, and I stepped on autumn leaves all the way. I was moved by unknown poems and even had the illusion that girls of this age were eager for adventure.

The leaves on the tree turned yellow, and the fallen leaves danced up and down like golden birds.

Yellow leaves, piece by piece, float gently on the water, like countless boats, slowly swing away with the wind.

(2) defoliation

The earth put on a golden sweater, and yellow poplar leaves and bright maple leaves fell down, as if several colorful butterflies were flying in the air. Although the frost came, Grandpa Song Qing still wore a green robe and looked greener. Chrysanthemums in the garden are in full bloom, red as fire, pink as chardonnay and white as snow, which is beautiful. All the leaves on the persimmon tree have fallen, but the persimmons in Huang Chengcheng are still hanging on their fingers, like orange lanterns, large and small, with red begonia pressing the branches.

Autumn leaves are so colorful, yellow as gold, green as jade, red as fire and so on. Let the autumn girl look particularly enchanting. A cool breeze blew, and golden leaves, waving handfuls of small fans, fell from the air as if telling a beautiful fairy tale.

The autumn wind is bleak, rolling up the yellow leaves on the branches, dancing like a group of beautiful dead-leaf butterflies, and large yellow leaves roll up and down in the wind, like rain. Some leaves have turned dark orange, some are only yellow, and some are still half green and half yellow. Looking at the dead leaves standing on the branches yesterday, they fell one after another, and the ground was covered with a thick layer, lying on the cold ground, which made people feel distressed.

The yellow leaves lay irregularly on the ground, and the bricks and asphalt roads were livid, keeping them out of the soil mercilessly. Fallen leaves are like homeless children, letting the wind blow them from East Street to West Street.

The autumn wind gradually rises, and the flying leaves fall into the soil. The setting sun sprinkled a gentle afterglow on them, and the leaves were golden and the last ray of light was blooming. That is the indelible scenery they left in the dust. I closed my eyes and suddenly remembered: "Falling red is not a heartless thing. Turning into spring mud protects flowers more." "