A composition describing the golden cicada

Under the scorching sun, low-paid work, the leaves on the tall trees are gone, and the puppy hangs its tongue. There was a cry of cicada from the towering tree in front of my house, as if it were a concert. How I wish I could catch some and show them off to my sister!

After some preparation, this afternoon, I carried the cicada cage I just made, found tools made of plastic nets and bamboo poles, and ran to Yang Shulin.

The cicada is chirping "cicada, cicada ..." Completely unaware of the disaster behind me, I happily ran over and tied it with a net, only to find that the cicada flew out of a crack in the tree and stopped on another tree. "cicada, cicada ..." she cried again, as if laughing at me. I thought about it and carefully summed up my experience. Unconsciously, two or three hours have passed, and I have caught a few.

From this, I understand a truth: when catching cicadas, we should hold our breath, wait and see, move forward slowly and attack decisively. Only in this way can we succeed.

Ah! Catch cicadas for the first time and gain a lot!

Cicada Singing, On the Road of Early Autumn —— Writing Cicada's Composition

In early autumn, on my way home, I heard cicadas singing.

What a skillful move this is. The melody is high and heavy, and the melody is euphemistic and light. Listening in the flying carriage, I can't tell whether this is a solo by a famous cicada performer or a chorus by many cicada singers. That ethereal and wonderful voice comes and goes, ups and downs are continuous, just like a long river whistling in the sky and a small river whispering. Isn't that a teenager who is about to give up childishness walking in a heroic manner? In the background of that song, it seems to be full of joy after a leap.

The cicada was singing and singing all the way. Gradually, the whole space is like a mirror, and the sound waves of cicadas are scattered on the lake. Even the dying poplars on the roadside sobbed and sang like a string of floating streamline. This sound is like a little bee butterfly, tied to the streamline of branch transformation, swaying with the branches and streamline, shaking its wings slightly and singing and dancing heartily. My heart gradually follows the melody, like riding a canoe, swaying slowly in the warmth of singing. Before you know it, you will be immersed in the long and beautiful tune that the fisherman girl hummed.

Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of a few birds in the field, jumping wing to wing between crops and branches, like a beautiful woman, scanning the ripe sorghum from time to time-the rich seeds exposed to frankincense after childbirth. Corn is like a girl whose lips are slightly open, revealing rows of charming white teeth, and she can't help but bang. However, those birds that leap from time to time seem to understand my mind-not only look at me with naughty little eyes, but also their chirping mouths and playful pursuit seem to show their deep contempt for me. At present, I dare not laugh.

Therefore, I am eager to see the persimmon forest on the village slope, and my heart is full of fragrance. Is it a dream shadow sung by flying cicadas, or is it a veil hiding the delicate face of autumn? I thought. However, in this unpredictable haze, I finally feel that it is indeed full of a commotion, an encouragement, a temptation, and a touching song of life! Is this a mood or an artistic conception? Perhaps, only careful people can see through the misty smoke and appreciate the intoxicating scenery that is easily eroded by wind and rain. Only in this way can we find a way to harvest colorful and boundless leaves when the joy of hiding comes and in the process of giving birth in early autumn!

Because, there is a cicada singing world that can be childlike.