Three essays on listening to the rain

Listening to the rain through the curtains is a kind of mood, and taste is an artistic conception. The following is my essay about listening to the rain carefully arranged for you, I hope you like it!

Essay on Listening to Rain 1: Listening to Rain

The idea of listening to the rain stems from the fact that I can open the curtains in the morning and see the foggy and rainy sky outside. In today's season, whenever it rains at night, I always know it's just because I saw it the next day. I live in a tall building, and I can't hear it unless it rains heavily. Even if the window is pushed open, it is in vain. Looking from the railing, in the misty and rainy sky in late spring, all you can satisfy is vision. High above? It's like looking at the sky, not the earth.

That was not the case. That kind? Sasha vujacic But now I remember that night, that storm, and now I can only wander in my distant mind. It has become a luxury to lie in bed and listen to the silent rain?

With a slight disappointment, I went downstairs to send my daughter to practice the piano, which is necessary for the weekend. There is an arched plastic ceiling at the entrance of the garage. Rain hits it and it feels very happy. Suddenly, my expression is very rich. At the same time, I found several earthworms crawling out of the soil after the rain, and a sparrow landed on the iron fence at the shed mouth. That sound, that picture, that peristalsis, that jump, seems to haunt a little bit of wild interest, especially close to the earth.

Hearing the rain, it seems that something is calling in my body, and I dare not even think about it. I have to hurry to pick up my daughter.

From a distance, you can hear rough, familiar, high-pitched or euphemistic piano sounds or other musical instruments, and your daughter naturally joins in. After listening for a while, the rhythmic sound on the eardrum is a noisy and messy feeling, a complicated and abrupt feeling, and it quietly turns out with a sigh.

Drive the car to the open space of the adjacent park alone, put out the fire, adjust the seat to a flat position, lie down lazily, take off your coat and cover your face with your head. On a rainy day, the gloomy surroundings suddenly disappeared, as if in the dark, I finally settled in a hut in a distant mountain and felt a sense of strangeness.

The rain is about rhythmic, and the relief depends entirely on the jingle of beads falling from the roof. Although it is not as warm as pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade, there is no special rhythm, but listening to the silence with my eyes closed, I clearly feel the fit of my body, as if knocking my heart. At that time, hearing the sound of rain seemed to be an instinct, and I naturally wanted to close my eyes, let that sound flow freely in my body, and feel the sureness in nature and on the earth.

At this time, you can think of everything, but you can't think of anything, as if you are thinking, feeling that you belong to this nature and can fantasize. At this time, the sky, the earth, the wind and rain, flowers and trees all exist because of you.

? Don't rejoice in things, don't grieve for yourself? I am lying in this black iron shell at the moment.

I can't help uncovering the clothes that cover my head. The window and windshield are covered with opaque water waves and hung softly. I can't see everything around me clearly in the chaos, only hear the rain.

Why can't I moan without illness, why can't I be bored for a while, and is meaninglessness itself a kind of meaning? I have a sense of satisfaction, and the rain falls for me. In this special time and space, my soul is curled up in a warm place.

The rain is still tinkling to meet me, and I think wildly, and I don't know how to enter a dream comfortably.

I dreamed that I was an earthworm, crawling comfortably in the soft and fertile soil in the rain, and I felt very satisfied. If it is beneficial to the growth of crops by the way, so much the better, even though crawling is not my intention.

At the other end of the dream came the tinkling piano sound, which was a meaningful sound. I don't know. I continue to like the unintentional sound of rain after waking up.

Listening to the rain 2: Listening to the rain

In the middle of the night, a noisy and misplaced rain knocked on the window, waking up a beautiful and suffocating dream, and this quietly coming rain brought some extra surprises. It's midsummer at the moment, and the midsummer night is sultry and annoying. After the rain cleared, the heart cleared, and the rain really came.

When all is silent, the sound of rain in the quiet night is like a whisper, telling unknown feelings and longings, which has caused long-lost thoughts, like goose buds in spring, breaking ground and growing into favorite seedlings.

The rain in Yunnan, rarely manic, is always more charming and soft, like a woman in red makeup, stirring up endless worries. I still remember Mr. Wang Zengqi's article "Rain in Kunming". I thought the rain in Yunnan was cold and sweet, full of the fragrance of gardenia. The rain in Yunnan is also real. Spring, rain touches cherry blossoms, summer, rain hits Huanghuai, autumn, chrysanthemums stay in the rain. The crystal of rain reflects the elegance of flowers, which is naturally a unique taste. It's just that this winter in Yunnan is very unhappy. In winter in Yunnan, there are also green flowers, but the green ones are old and lifeless, so it is particularly cold when it rains.

At this moment, the smoke under the rain is dripping, kissing the glass of the night. Ding Dong! Perhaps a drop of water fell from the roof and hit an iron drum, echoing like ripples in the silence of the night. The echo is far away, knocking on the heartstrings, making people think all over the sky.

I have never been to Jiangnan, but in my dreams, I dreamed of Jiangnan, which is too rainy and foggy.

In the dream, misty rain weaves a veil, covering the sky and the sun, leaving only a thin reverie. A few willows, ten thousand hanging green, quietly pay attention to the farmer and his old buffalo in two acres of square land. The farmer rolled up his trouser legs, his feet and legs were covered with mud, and his worn-out share was in his hand. With the silent old buffalo's unhurried pace, he plowed a series of curves on the ground. In the distance, a handsome woman, holding a ceramic crock in one hand and a foreign paper umbrella in the other, walked on the ridge of the field and walked towards the farmer and his old buffalo.

In the dream, misty rain soaked the window paper of Ling Ge on the windowsill on both sides of the alley, and a layer of shiny ice formed on the meaningful bluestone board in the alley, and the raindrops flowing down the eaves formed a row of ripples on the ground. The ancient head sat on the knee-high threshold and leaned against the door frame, sleepy. An old room, a fiery red fire, lit up the duck egg face of the girl who was burning in front of the stove, and a black high bun. There was only the sound of rain in the silent alley. A hibiscus woman held up a paper umbrella and passed through the alley, leaving only two jade rings on the waist of the cheongsam.

Crackling, a quick voice interrupted my thoughts. I don't know when it began to rain very hard, like it rained very tightly and hit the glass irregularly, which brought a little panic. The sound of rain also becomes like heavy breathing, showing anxiety.

It rains in the north, that's all. Compared with the rain in Yunnan, it feels more turbulent and generous, combined with the vastness and frankness of the north, abrupt and full of spirituality. It rains in the north without affectation, but it is always windy. When the wind blows, dark clouds are gathering, like splashing ink. A few drops of rain fell on the shoulders and smashed into the dust, splashing tiny dust particles, and there was no room for breathing for half an hour. It's a white rain. What I heard in the rain was heavy breathing, deep silence and excited heartbeat. The rain poured out without stint, connected into several lines, woven into rain curtains, and continuously merged into streams on the earth, merged into rivers, and flowed eastward to the sea. All rivers flowed into the sea.

It rains in the north, and it rains in March and April, which makes people feel happy. If it rains in July, it will make people worry. It's June now. In the north, it should be the season of sour eyebrows and yellow wheat. In another month, it will be time for every household to harvest wheat. Autumn is crisp, the wind blows through the wheat waves, and the steamed bread steamed from new wheat will be drunk in the north.

July is the harvest season in the north, and June is the harvest season. When June comes, the sickle hanging in the woodshed for a year will be taken down. With the sound of the grindstone, the rust of a year will be worn away and a shiny white light will be ground. Then check the iron fork, shovel, hammer and push plate one by one, make minor repairs and wait for the harvest.

In July, the sky is exceptionally high, exceptionally blue, and the clouds are exceptionally few and exceptionally white. Pick up the sickle and go down to the ground. With the click of the sickle, bundles of wheat were neatly cut in the field and piled up for threshing. Rain is the most feared this season. Once it rains, the rain enters the crib and the wheat will germinate. Wheat that has germinated is not allowed to go to public grain, and even vegetable vendors who drive donkey carts to the village to sell eggplant, peppers and tomatoes are not allowed.

The rain outside the window seems a little smaller, and the sound of rain adds a gentle breath in the rush. I hope to wake up tomorrow, sunny, fresh and natural after the rain, sunny and relaxed.

I don't know when I fell asleep again

Prose 3 Listening to the Rain: Listening to the Rain in Summer

In summer, the weather is as dull as a steamer, and the air is so humid that it seems to squeeze out water. The corner of the yard and the trunk are covered with small and lovely snails, which seems to be their world. Even the lower end of the wooden door, because of the continuous rain, also grew a few fresh fungus. The sun is fierce, but the trees are greener, there are more leaves, the wind is blowing and there are colorful dances.

I stayed at home all summer. Since autumn, the weather has become hotter and wetter, much like the rainy season in the south of the Yangtze River. It is said that the baby's face changes as soon as it changes in summer. It was clear in Wan Li just now, and soon it was overcast and the sky seemed to hang down. Rain is coming, and a heavy rain is coming. I always hope that the storm will come more violently in my sweat to dispel the heat and anxiety in my heart and make the world cool.

I like to listen to the sound of rain, and I like to sit in front of the window and drink tea alone on foggy rainy days. Listen to the rain outside the window hitting the eaves, falling on the leaves, and then falling on the mirror-like water, splashing a little. Those splashes are jumping happily, like jumping notes, humming and whispering-and then mixed together, like pearls of all sizes pouring on a plate of jade.

Listening to the rain through the curtains is a kind of mood, and taste is an artistic conception. I always feel that Yu Xia is a natural voice, a magnificent symphony between heaven and earth, which brings the enthusiasm and boldness of life to the extreme, washes away the noise and dust of the world and makes the flowers of the years more gorgeous and fragrant.

Through a drizzle, watching the time fall, my thoughts began to ripple. Thinking of my distant childhood, I left too many wonderful memories in my hometown where I was born and raised. The happiness of my childhood is there, which is more poetic of rain. Almost all stories are connected with rain.

In my memory, rain loves the country best. Thousands of raindrops, like a string of silver chains made of crystals, are endless, touching the endless green, kissing the earth so enthusiastically, and the plants and trees spread their arms, cheering and jumping, like sucking their mother's rich milk, greedy. In that era of relying on the weather to eat, rain was the best favor of nature and the greatest happiness of farmers. Watching the rain falling, the old people laughed and their beards trembled. The rain washed the crops greener, and the adults laughed and ran to the fields, looking at the green, and the harvest jumped in their narrowed eyes. What can surprise farmers more than good weather and good harvest all the year round?

Children don't understand this. We just played in the rain, as if like a duck to water, completely unaware that we had been wet by the rain. Sometimes they follow adults, walk barefoot on the ridge of the field, smell the fragrance of the soil, and pick wild flowers with water droplets on the roadside, not in the hair room. Childhood hands always bring back a handful of bright flowers. When the adults saw it, they couldn't help laughing and saying, look, this girl can brag a lot.

The pond next to the village is our best yearning. Every summer, a lotus is as green as jade, with leaves embracing each other, holding out a fresh and elegant white lotus, dancing in the wind and graceful. The wind blows the lotus fragrance, and the willow is drunk in the lotus pond. Watching the fish playing among the green lotus, several naughty boys will immediately jump into the water, catch some small fish and shrimp, and pick some lotus flowers or lotus leaves for us to eat. On sunny days, we put an umbrella on our heads. When it rains, we will run and laugh in the rain with green umbrellas. Rain hits the lotus, and every drop is the beauty of childhood.

The most interesting thing is that soon after the rain, we went to find cicada. At this time, cicadas don't wait until dark to drill holes. It climbed out early because of the rain, so it was easy to see. We walked into the quiet Woods. Although there was rain on the trees, it didn't affect our happy mood at all. Cicada dogs at this time, unlike the dirty things they usually bring, have been washed clean by rain. We carefully put them in bottles and took them home. Mother will wash them several times and then salt them. Then, at the dinner table, there is another tempting and delicious meal.

Speaking of eating, there were no snacks at that time. Every summer, melons and fruits that come down from the ground become our biggest temptation. Stealing dates is what we often do. When we arrived in Gua Tian, we saw those crisp white melons and green melons, just like simple and honest fat dolls, which stimulated our taste buds. The summer rain falls, and the crystal raindrops moisten the attractive melons and fruits, so we can't help but start. Seeing the opportunity, we only pick those ripe melons and eat them directly with our hands, regardless of whether they are washed or not. After eating, I picked two more, hid them in my arms and ran away. Actually, Uncle Guagua has already found us. He deliberately pretended not to know and hid in a thatched shed. After the escape, we can vaguely see him cleaning up the mess that has been bothering us.

In the evening, at four o'clock in the evening, the sunset has faded the last trace of residual red. It would be best if it happened to rain at this time. Rain is not that kind of heavy rain, but continuous drizzle. Holding an umbrella, walking on the field path, listening to the rain dripping on the umbrella, dripping on the green leaves, dripping on the weeds in the flowers, rustling very gracefully. Breathing the fresh air with the fragrance of earth, looking at a curtain of drizzle, hazy, ethereal and poetic.

At this time, the foot is a lush green, the eyes are flowing with a continuous woven rain curtain, and the ears are the sound of frogs, cicadas and tired birds returning to their nests. On the muddy road in the rain, there are old farmers carrying hoes home, and village women walking slowly with cows. Because it doesn't rain much, I want to bathe in the coolness again to dispel the fatigue of the day. Over the village, the smoke from the kitchen chimneys rose, and the delicate and graceful smell of food and the voice of the mother calling her son home seemed to float out, echoing in the smoke for a long time.

Only here can we feel the harmony between man and nature. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, in a quiet artistic conception, meet and reunite with nature, soul and yourself. Listening to the rain, you can forget yourself and travel through time and space. Walking in the rain, the world seems to add a bit of poetry, a bit of tranquility, a bit of indifference and a bit of freedom.

Perhaps the older you get, the easier it is to recall the past. The older you get, the more you like abstinence. Separated by a misty rain, facing the distant time, those fleeting years, those lush past events have long been engraved in the corridor of memory, full of vitality and fragrance. Looking at the flowers and leaves in the rain, the trees are green and charming in the rain, and a sense of joy arises spontaneously.

T.A., time flies, bloom flowers fall. The wind in late summer brings a little coolness, and the rain in summer brings a little poetry. When I stand at the corner of the season, I am always moved by the scenery in front of me.

Listening to the rain, under the eaves, in the fields, in front of the window, lingering, misty. Let thoughts overflow the boundless sky and float in the rain. Listening to the strings of time, playing a clear echo, rain is like silk, water is like jade, and silk is touching my inner softness.

I think, listening to the rain in summer, every sound and every thought has produced a quiet lotus in the stagnant time, beautiful and tactfully.