The weather is late, autumn prose essay

The weather is late, autumn prose essay 1

Although the yellow locust tree at the intersection is full of yellow flowers, as if it is spring, the cicadas and frogs in late summer are still singing. It lingers vaguely in my ears, and the sunshine has not completely faded away its enthusiasm. However, the stream has become colder, and the autumn rain has fallen continuously. Unknowingly, it is late autumn.

Late autumn will bring people some melancholy emotions, as if they come with the autumn wind. This emotion slowly spreads and is filled with a feeling of loneliness. When I see a fallen leaf or a broken flower, I will think of the short life of a white cloud dog. Time is like a horse that keeps running wildly into the distance without a trace of memory. The child who was ignorant and curious about the world yesterday turned into an old man who has experienced the world in a blink of an eye. The ancients also lamented: The mirror in Gaotang is sad and has gray hair! Where was that handsome young man who was full of energy and energy and could swallow up thousands of miles like a tiger? Now he has been crushed by the years and withered, leaving only two gray temples and one gray eyebrow. The chilling sound of the autumn wind outside the window is probably an interpretation of the shortness of this life. The autumn colors are boundless, and there are so many joys and sorrows in this deep autumn color. The autumn mood is strong, and the sorrow of separation is even stronger. "Where does the autumn wind come? It sends off the wild geese." Life is like this, with fewer gatherings and more separations. We have experienced too many partings: with friends, with lovers, with relatives, with joy, with love, and with happiness. After passing through the long river of time, in the end it is just the autumn colors and the evening mist facing the Changting Pavilion. Like a lonely goose that has lost its flock, it whines in the cold wind and draws a lonely arc in the gray cloud shadow. Gao Li gradually builds a high-pitched voice: the wind rustles and the water becomes cold, and the strong man will never return once he is gone! The tragic and desolate song must have resounded in the cool late autumn dusk, but the brave man finally drove away without caring. Only the horses neighed and the Yishui gurgled.

Suddenly I thought of the cicada that loves to sing. This insect has stayed in the soil for several years or even more than ten years. It bursts out of the ground and leaps onto a branch to sing a song for a short time. As soon as autumn is over, it is blown away by the wind. Went. Did you call the spring water cold, or did the autumn wind chill you? No matter how stubborn the grass is, it is no match for the cold autumn. After the strong wind, it will wither in the wilderness and fade away, or it will drift and turn in the wind, and disappear without a trace together with the dream that it had in the spring. When the season arrives in autumn, leaves fall in large swaths, and whether they are as red as roses or as bright as gold, they are eventually annihilated in the soil until no trace is left. On a windy autumn night, all the trees are desolate and only ghosts can be heard crying. The night is as ice-like; the night is as cold as water. The romantic nightingale has long since disappeared. The sparse branches are trembling in the night sky. A few dim fishing fires on the lake are reflected in the frost-covered sky. Color, sleeping with autumn thoughts and sorrow, lonely and helpless. The fallen leaves were picked up and abandoned by the wind, abandoned and rolled up again and again, letting out bursts of sad sighs and making a weak struggle, as if they were helplessly attached to their youth. When the prosperity is gone and everything is desolate, withered leaves scattered everywhere by the west wind, and the jade trees turned into bald branches, how can I still see all the elegance and pride of Chang'an flowers in one day! It's a pity that the green years are like the spent flowers, and the wind is always blown away by the rain and wind. Even though the eyes are messed up in the west wind and I call desperately, I can never bring back those young and frivolous time. I left a sigh: Unbearable to be mysterious. Shadow on the temples, come and chant to the white head. No matter how hard you struggle, you scream: I’m going crazy as a teenager! It's nothing more than a flashback before the curtain comes to an end. Time will eventually pass, and the carnival will eventually end, just like the autumn rain falling on the mountains full of red maples. All that can be retained are memories, memories of the mottled past. Following the footsteps of the west wind, the past gradually fades away.

The autumn wind is cold and the autumn rain is cold. The poet once murmured bitterly: "The autumn wind and autumn rain make people sad, and sitting alone in the cold night makes my heart feel like a pounding." Since ancient times, autumn has been a season of sadness and loneliness, with falling trees rustling. In the wind and rain of late autumn, the mood is even more melancholy and desolate. The joy of childhood, the joy of youth, and the pleasure of intense love now have no idea where they belong or where they are flowing. In the days of continuous autumn rain, my mood becomes more and more heavy. I lament the impermanence of fate; I lament that time is fleeting; I lament the loneliness after all the beauty has been washed away. Yes, how miserable and unwilling it must be for a hero to die and for a beauty to grow old! Pitter patter, pitter patter, the continuous autumn rain keeps falling, the heaven and earth are confused. The autumn rain is like beads, knocking on the window lattice of the wandering stranger, will those nostalgic past memories still remain the same? In the miserable wind and bitter rain, people see the floating world like a lonely boat in the vast ocean. Worshiping and praying are all in vain. The years are still advancing ruthlessly at his pace, without worries and making no sound. The nineteenth-century British poet Christina Georgina Rossetti wrote in her "Song":

When I die, my dear, don't worry I sing sad songs

There is no need to place roses on my grave

No need for shady cypress trees

Let the gentle grass cover me

The rain is wet with dewdrops

If you are willing, please remember me

If you are willing, forget me

I will I can no longer see the shade of the ground

I can no longer feel the sweetness of the rain and dew

I can no longer hear the singing voice of the nightingale

I pour out my sorrowful cry in the dark night

The sun does not rise nor disappear

I may, maybe I remember you

I may, I may forget

The artistic conception is poignant and sad, which makes people sigh. This should be her summary of her late life.

At this time, the autumn wind whispers outside the window and the autumn insects whisper, as if the autumn rain is coming.

This weather is late in the autumn season, and I suddenly burst into tears...