Today the teacher compiled for you: the junior high school Chinese language final essay: "The Fragrance Remains in Memory".
The fragrance left in memory
How many flowers have fallen in dreams. As time goes by and the seasons change, only one flower stays in my heart forever, exuding its charming fragrance.
The patter of spring rain falls just like yesterday. There are signs but there seems to be no end. I stood in the corridor of the classroom, waiting for my mother to pick me up. For a long time, the spring rain was still empty, leaving some remnants of the fragrance. In the distance, a woman was running in the rain. She was not wearing a raincoat and her clothes were soaked. I saw clearly that it was my mother.
A burst of brakes aroused all my irritability, and I looked angry, "Why did you come now?" "I came very early because today is your birthday, so I went to make a cake. No. I thought it was too late." After hearing my mother's words, my angry expression gradually softened. My eyes went around my mother and towards the raincoat. There was indeed something covered under the raincoat. "Why don't you wear a raincoat?" "Oh, I put the raincoat on the cake to prevent it from getting wet." My heart was shocked, looking at my mother who was soaked by the rain, and looking at the cake covered by the raincoat. Cake, I don’t know if it is sour or sweet.
I don’t know when my thoughts were attracted by the fragrance of flowers in the wind, and drifted to this day last year. The spring rain is still pattering, the spring breeze is still fragrant, and my mother, who has been tired from working for a day, collapsed on the bed as soon as she came home. She seemed to have forgotten today. I was a little angry, but I couldn't bear to wake my mother up. Suddenly, my mother "bounced" from the bed like clockwork, picked up her raincoat and hurried out. I didn't know what my mother was doing, but I was vaguely enveloped in loss. The fragrance of spring flowers passed through my nose, but I had no intention of enjoying it. After a while, my mother came back, holding a cake in her hand - a cake covered with a raincoat. There was liquid surging in my eyes.
"Let's go." My mother's words brought my thoughts back from my memories. The scene at this moment overlapped with today of that year. A short but profound movie was shown. The protagonist of the movie was my mother, and I was just moved. audience. I want to use my loudest applause to praise such an evocative movie and tell the protagonist of the movie how grateful I am to her.
Thank my mother for everything she has done for me, thank my mother for touching me, and thank my mother for planting the fragrant flower in my heart.
The spring rain is pattering, the spring breeze is blowing, and the petals of the spring flowers are ruthlessly blown off, but the fragrance in the heart will not wither due to time or the environment.
It is insured by love and will never die.
The fragrance left in memory
The melody of silk, bamboo and piano and harp echoes in my ears again. The past is like the coming of spring in thousands of mountains and plains. I would like to meet with the memories by the green water pavilion and pick up a wisp of the fragrance of memory.
The stars last night and the wind last night, I will never forget that summer of 2014, in the West Street and alleys of Yangshuo, Guilin, staying with the fleeting time, simple and self-sufficient in tranquility.
Beside the Lijiang River, the sound of the piano is loud. Take an orchid boat to enjoy the scenery, blending into the beautiful scenery in the rippling clear waves; the mountains in the distance are shrouded in clouds and mist, and the wisps of light smoke are like mysterious veils. Look, these mountains are so beautiful. Dress up in front of the mirror, Phoenix tail bamboo It is her gorgeous dress, and the green pine is her outer armor. The mountains in Guilin are filled with tenderness and fortitude, and the water here is also absolutely wonderful. They gently patted the two sides of the strait and told the story of growing old, just like a bronze mirror , reflecting the eternal Yangshuo . The fragrance in memory is like a landscape painting.
The drizzle and breeze pass by, and I meet you in the long alleys of West Street. Facing the gentle and graceful landscape, I gently opened the old slips, and Nalan sang tragically under the bamboo shadow. The poems were like the rain in Yangshuo, emotional, thorough, and pointed directly to the heart. Gambling books will make you splash with the fragrance of tea.I chant softly, brew a cup of fragrant tea in the dusk, enjoy a moment of happiness, drink and share sorrow with the literati; the weather is getting late, the rain is getting lighter, the bluestone streets are washed into a bright light, and the lilac-like girl is supporting me The oil-paper umbrella disappeared at the end of the trail, leaving people with endless reverie. A few urchins were playing and jumping in the sunset, full of childlike innocence. In the wisps of cooking smoke, thousands of lights reflected the warmth. That is the color of memories. The fragrance in memory is a sweet encounter.
When I returned to my grandmother’s home, she was holding a rice shovel and lighting the fire to cook for the people in the village. That day was the day when my brother came back, and everyone was reunited. Although I am an "outsider", I feel the love of Jiangnan. In the water, wine and bonfire, I forget all the troubles and integrate into their lives. I am moved by my mother's expectations for my children and my sister's folk songs. Happy... On that bright moonlit night, listen to the life of the Dong people and their lives. The fragrance in the memory is the local sounds and feelings, and the cherishment of each other.
Now, one year later, I am picking up a ray of fragrance of memory. That relationship will be placed in the cleanest corner of the soul, just like the landscape of the Li River. Never be contaminated by time and quietly release the fragrance.
That is the long-lasting love of the Lijiang River, that is the fragrance in the memory!
The fragrance left in memory
The flower perfumed the air with its fragrance, but its ultimate task is to dedicate itself to you.
——Inscription
has that kind of smell, greasy and accompanied by a faint smell of oil smoke, but the warmth in it cannot be ignored. This is the smell of mother, a different kind of fragrance.
When I was a child, I always liked to pester my mother, bury my head in her arms, and sway back and forth. I loved the fragrance so much.
But as the years go by, I have gradually grown up, and it seems that I can no longer understand that fragrance, it is just the smell of oil smoke. That's what I thought, and I started to isolate it.
Since I entered junior high school, there has been no time to think about the fragrance anymore.
I finally looked forward to a leisurely weekend. The teacher rarely lightened the homework, and I enjoyed it. After dinner, my ears were filled with the rhythmic music of Bigbang, while my mother was packing clothes.
"Um... daughter, do you want to go for a walk?" Mom stopped what she was doing and suddenly suggested.
I raised my head and glanced out the window. The sky was gray, as if I didn't like the white clouds. Dark clouds occupied the sky, and it looked like it was going to rain, so I refused vaguely: "It's going to rain outside soon." "
When my mother heard this, I talked to her, thinking there was hope, so she said excitedly: "Just bring an umbrella. Didn't you like walking in the rain before?"
I was a little irritated and refused her: "Then. I'm still a kid, I don't like the smell now, and I have to review for the final exam soon."
My mother finally fell silent. I paused, feeling a little unbearable, and looked up at her. My mother was squatting there, holding my favorite sweater in her hand. She stroked it over and over again, just like when she was a child, she comforted me when I was crying.
There is that fragrance on the tip of my nose, and I feel sour in my heart. When did I start treating my mother like this? Do I... really reject that fragrance?
After a while of rustling, my mother put the clothes in the closet, turned around, and stopped as if she thought of something, "Don't... it's too late to review."
Even if she was given harsh words, my mother would not give up. mine. I finally realized that that fragrance had always been my favorite that I didn't want to accept in my heart. "Mom... wait, take the umbrella, let's go.""
's mother was obviously a little surprised: "Well, you...don't you still need to review? "
I smiled, held my mother's hand and said, "I can do it after reviewing, but today's walk will not happen in the future. "
In the cold wind, the rain is still falling, but most of the dark clouds seem to have dissipated, and some are the fragrance that remains in the memory, greasy, and very warm.
The fragrance that remains in the memory
"Mom, I'm hungry, what's there? Do you want something to eat?"
"No, you do your homework first. "
"Then are you free?" I didn't notice your annoyance at all, "Make me a glass of milk, okay?"
"I'm not free, you continue to do your homework. "The voice was sharp and there was no room for negotiation.
I was stunned. You, who have always been kind, were so cold today! Did you get offended in the work? That's not the case! I walked to the study with a trace of resentment, and walked into the study room. Instantly, I felt a deep sense of loneliness, which enveloped me, pressed me, and made me breathless. I put down my schoolbag and looked out through the glass - December, the season when wintersweet is in full bloom. A hazy veil enveloped the entire Lin'an . Wintersweet and snowmen looked across the road. The north wind blew into the study, and there was no intention of returning.
After finishing his homework, he stepped out to relax. It was snowing again. , I sat in the pavilion in the garden in the snow, like a withered flower, swaying in the snow. Isn't it just a cup of milk? I grabbed a handful of wintersweet and threw it into the snow. The wintersweet is still blooming, unlike me... The fragrance of December, with its coldness, breaks into my heart. At this time, the comfortable bed and warm quilt, and your warm embrace, can't help but feel in my heart. A trace of regret.
The fragrance of December brings with it the coldness and the pace of your search. You hold an umbrella and call my name in the snow.
Look. Watching you sitting on the stairs in despair, you stand up again and again; seeing you shed crystal tears, drop after drop, in the fragrance of December, the tears have already filled your eyes, I rushed forward and hugged you. Hold you, hug me tightly. You handed me the milk and I took it. I felt very uncomfortable because of this feeling. It was just that the coldness in my heart was dispelled by your love and the temperature of the milk. Without a trace. A trace of warmth came to my heart.
The snow stopped, and a ray of sunshine shone on the earth. The snow melted, but the fragrance and warmth of the wintersweet shone into my heart. , Lin'an will be shrouded under the veil, and the bustling appearance of the past will be revealed again.
In December, the fragrance of wintersweet under the winter sun is overflowing. Because of you, the fragrance of wintersweet will float with love...
Stay here. Fragrance in memory
In my memory, there is a Sophora japonica tree outside the window, growing alone beside a dilapidated wall. No matter the flowers are blooming, the cicadas are chirping, the leaves are falling, or the snow is falling, they are leaning silently on that unobtrusive spot. In the corner, there is a faint fragrance.
This tree first caught my attention when the community was renovated and people rebuilt the wall. It was midsummer, but there were only a few trees on the top of the locust tree. There are a few leaves hanging here and there, looking so old. People looked at the old locust trees and felt that they were of no use, so they used the trees as pillars and pressed the entire wall on the trees to make the wall stronger. As a result, people think that in a few days, the locust tree will eventually become a dead tree because it cannot bear the weight of the wall.
But things were beyond people’s expectations. A few months later, the old locust tree actually used some method to knock down the wall. People were surprised and helpless, so they had to build the wall again. A few more months passed, and spring came. During these months, the old locust tree pressed against the wall little by little, and finally pushed the wall down again.
I couldn't suppress my curiosity. What power does an old tree that is about to die have to knock down an entire wall again? I came to the feet of the old locust tree under the window and looked at the old locust tree carefully.
The tree is very old, neither tall nor strong, and even a little crooked. I looked down at the roots of the tree. Several sections had been cut in half, like an injured octopus lying on the ground. The tree trunk is even more scarred, with deep or shallow scars, which seem to tell the pain the tree has endured in repeated struggles. The branches that go up are all broken, and some have even been bent and broken when the wall was pushed down.
I am even more puzzled. Why does the tree fight against the wall at such a high cost? At this moment, I seemed to smell a faint fragrance. Looking for the smell, I looked up and saw a little bit of fresh green on the treetops, mixed with a few pale white flowers, stubbornly emerging from the branches. , like a string of wind chimes hanging on the treetops.
I took a deep breath, and a very fragrant but not sweet smell penetrated my nose. I smelled it carefully, it was so fragrant and pure, without any odor. I looked at the scars on the tree again, and suddenly tasted a bit of bitterness.
I suddenly understood that what allows the old tree to survive tenaciously and regain its vitality is the power of resistance and the power of life. In the struggle, the old tree takes root deeper to absorb more nutrients, so that the old tree will fight against more powerful forces and fate again and again. In the struggle, the flower of life of the old tree can bloom again.
All lives are like this. In the struggle against difficulties, life learns to be brave, strong and patient. In struggle, life will be more exciting and fragrant.
Thinking of this, I looked at the ordinary and extraordinary life in front of me and slowly bowed. The fragrance in my memory allows me to fight against difficulties and grow high in the sky of youth.
The fragrance left in the memory
The faint morning light covered the leaves with a layer of gauze. On the vast river, a small boat moved forward slowly.
"Sir, don't you regret your decision?" The book boy on the boat said, looking at the man standing on the bow of the boat. "Regret?" He muttered, looking down at the circles of ripples.
The memory goes back to my childhood. At that time, he was a high-spirited young man with a longing for the sky in his clear eyes. He loves to read, and he will be excited when reading about the great deeds of the sages, as if something is constantly expanding and growing in his chest. "Xing Tian Wu Qian Qian Qian, fierce ambition will always be there." The blood sounded in his heart, so he confidently threw himself into the officialdom, thinking that with his talents and ambitions, he could create earth-shattering achievements.
Thinking of this, a wry smile appeared on the corner of his mouth. The young man who once envied the wild geese flying south has long since died in the smoky officialdom. He abandoned his official position and returned to his hometown just to stay away from the turbid officialdom. He was tired of intrigues and the days of having to wear a mask against his will at all times. Hypocrisy, treachery, greed, those ugly faces disgusted him, and he regretted even more that he had embarked on such a bright career! "I finally left." He thought, "But am I really relieved? Why am I still panting like a loaded donkey?" Tao Qian looked up, although there was sunshine on his face, he still showed a trace of sadness. .
The ship has arrived. He was about to go ashore. This was the first time since he left the officialdom that he had set foot on this land that he was also attached to in his dreams.
He looked behind him for a moment, and finally set foot on his homeland, and the fragrance of the soil filled his nostrils. Suddenly, his steps became brisk. Yes, the land of my hometown is so down-to-earth and makes people feel more at peace than those frivolous things.
The endless wheat fields suddenly appeared in front of Tao Qian, and the rich fragrance of wheat penetrated his nostrils, brushing away the tired look on the wanderer's face.The familiar local accent, the warm smile, and the sound of the waves of wheat instantly engulfed Tao Qian. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in this field filled with earthy fragrance, like a baby sleeping peacefully and comfortably in his mother's soft arms.
Those unpleasant past events disappeared.
Those burdens on my heart disappeared.
Throughout the ages, how many men have worked hard for the so-called dream of "helping the common people". Some have achieved success, while others have suffered from ups and downs and a lifetime of sorrow. Only now do I understand that fame and fortune are nothing but frivolous mist, which can be blown away; the soil under your feet is real. This soil is the beginning of life, authenticity, and the original innocent heart of you and me. I would like to stay and enjoy the fragrance of the earth. Dai Yuehe hoeing, getting close to this land affectionately, and being with the soil, I am the most real me.
Tao Qian opened his eyes. He felt that his whole body was covered with the smell of earth. He felt that he had turned back into the innocent and simple boy he once was. The shadow in his heart that had been stained by officialdom quietly faded away in the refreshing fragrance of earth. He turned his head, looked at the rich green in the distance, and smiled with relief.
Under the eastern fence, a wild chrysanthemum is blooming quietly, with a lingering fragrance...
The fragrance left in the memory
has such a smell, admiring the moon and extending the autumn laurel, the sun chasing the dew and the sunflower, sweet and hazy. The morning mist and crystal dew are so haunting.
This is the fragrance of September osmanthus. To me, it is a different kind of fragrance.
The year I was born, my grandma planted a laurel tree with her own hands in the corner of the yard. The seeds sprouted into seedlings, showing a green smiling face, and I couldn't wait to get out of my mother's belly; the saplings grew vigorously, sprouting slender new branches, and I toddle under my grandma's arms; the small trees grew into thick trunks, branches and leaves It was lush and taller than the eaves of my house. I wore braids and blew bubbles under the tree; until the shoulders of the small tree became strong and held up a corner of the sky, I changed from a naive primary school student to a calm middle school student. I was fifteen years old and the tree was fifteen years old. From when I was taller than the small tree to when the big tree was taller than me, I circled the laurel tree and sang nursery rhymes for more than ten years.
When I was a child, every time it rained, I would move two small stools to the courtyard gate and invite my grandma to watch the rain together. She sat down against me and held me gently in her arms. On the low eaves, strings of raindrops fell down, and at the water injection point at the root of the wall, there was a smile, like clouds and brocade that can be cut, like running water that can be squeezed. Grandma closed her eyes and listened to the beating notes of the light rain, showing a subtle smile: "It's September, taking advantage of this timely rain, the osmanthus tree has drunk enough water, and it will bloom soon." I saw the raindrops falling from the lush green leaves. The branches slid down, as if spitting out an extra touch of green, and the branches greedily sucked the rain and dew, giving birth to a blossoming of smart beauty.
In the confusion, the dream is ready to go, and the wish is buried and waiting quietly.
The old and the young just looked at the yard, listening to the rain, and watching the rain - "In the past..." Oh, I know, grandma is going to tell a story again. She tilted her head, pointed to the osmanthus tree in the yard, and vividly told the mythical story "Wu Gang's Cutting of the Osmanthus". I often listened intently and stared at our laurel tree. In the drizzle, I imagined a strong woodcutter holding an ax in his hand to chop down the tree. Every time after cutting for a period of time, the laurel tree would automatically heal. Grandma’s soft local accent, accompanied by the cool sound of rain, turned into a unique childhood background music, which remains deep in my memory.
A few days after the rain stopped, the branches and leaves were indeed covered with bunches of chrysanthemum-yellow buds, like golden bells laughing in the wind. The fiery red osmanthus is densely packed, one cluster after another, as big as a grain of rice. From a distance, it looks like the green leaves are dotted with a few pieces of gold. Although it is not as elegant as plum blossoms, when it blooms, not to mention the fragrance that spreads for ten miles, at least a dozen neighbors are immersed in the fragrance of sweet-scented osmanthus. So I love Gui.
My hometown is close to the sea, and September is the typhoon season.As soon as the sweet-scented osmanthus bloomed, grandma would wander around under the sweet-scented osmanthus tree all day long, and kept saying: "This year must be a good harvest year. What wonderful sweet-scented osmanthus flowers can be collected in baskets to make tea and sugar. The sweet-scented osmanthus flowers are delicious." Not bad at all. Give a basket to your neighbor, Uncle Zhang, who loves osmanthus tea ; give a basket to Aunt Li next door, who likes to make sachets. "
I'm afraid of typhoons, but it's a pity that there are so many flowers. I am also very worried when I think of the sweet-scented osmanthus cake made by my grandma. I was playing football in the yard that day and accidentally kicked the ball against a tree trunk, knocking down the sweet-scented osmanthus flowers on the ground. I picked up one and sniffed it at the tip of my nose. The aroma was so charming. I ran to the house excitedly, called my grandma out, and said happily: "Grandma, look, let's hold on to the tree and shake the sweet-scented osmanthus down. The smell will be better than the sweet-scented osmanthus that fell in the soil or was blown down by the wind and rain." The flowers are fresh." Grandma smiled happily after hearing this, and ran into the house in a hurry, brought a piece of cloth and spread it under the tree, and started doing it.
This time, I felt happy. I helped my grandma hold the sweet-scented osmanthus tree and shake it hard. Shake and shake, the sweet-scented osmanthus fell down one after another, and our heads and bodies were covered with sweet-scented osmanthus. I shouted: "Ah! It's like rain, it's such a fragrant rain!"
After the sweet-scented osmanthus falls, pick off the twigs and leaves to make sweet-scented osmanthus cake. Grandma is famous for her craftsmanship. She is an expert at making sweet-scented osmanthus cake. Whenever she makes cakes, I will watch from the sidelines. Grandma puts the flour into a steamer and steams it, then cools it and grinds it finely with a grinder to make cooked flour. She calmly picked up the washed glutinous rice, spread it in a dustpan, and deftly kneaded the powder into balls. I helped grandma weigh a certain amount of sugar and water. Grandma boiled them into sugar liquid and dropped them into the water to form lumps. Finally, she mixed these materials evenly with the protagonist osmanthus, put them into a wooden frame, and it was done.
I gave the delicious sweet-scented osmanthus cake to my neighbors. All of them were impressed and gave me some sachets made of sweet-scented osmanthus. Grandma looked at me with a smile and took a bite of the sweet-scented osmanthus cake, feeling very happy in her heart.
A few years later, the family went to other places. Around the Mid-Autumn Festival , it is the season when sweet-scented osmanthus blooms here. The hills not far away are full of sweet-scented osmanthus trees. When the flowers bloom, the air is filled with a wisp of fragrance, which is by no means inferior to the sweet-scented osmanthus trees in my hometown. After school, I folded a few flowers and put them in the living room. Grandma leaned close to the vase and smelled them carefully. She shook her head and said, "No matter how fragrant the osmanthus here is, it can't compare to the osmanthus in the yard of my hometown."
Grandma's love is what I will always stay with. The fragrance in memory transcends glitz and dust, and is a loving dish that never goes bad.
