What are some lyrical essays about describing scenes?

In lyrical prose about scenery, the scenery is a real scenery and the objects are real objects. It is only through description that the scenery becomes sentimental and meaningful, so that the emotions expressed by the author can be integrated with the written scenery from beginning to end. The content I bring to you below, I hope it will be useful to you.

About the Lyrical Prose about Scenery: Part 1: Dim street lamp, writing about the cold winter

Under the lamp, there is a silent night sky and a quiet heart.

The refracted afterglow decorates the cold starry sky on Christmas Eve, the evening breeze is like a song, and a sad song understates the rush of life. Watch the fleeting light and see the fireworks in life! Christmas Eve, Christmas, foreign festivals, As long as it's safe, it doesn't matter whether it's a holiday or not, but I still write in the third person.

The dark night sky and the hope that I keep alone are still like poetry. The poetry is like your beauty passing through my longing heart. The bitterness of melancholy is filled with the prosperity of the past. The years on the tip of the pen are full of The smiles we once walked together, the stars tonight, looking back at the setting sun, the nostalgic heart, the wrong wandering, the old waiting!

The shallow years, the fleeting shadow. Writing about different journeys back home, especially plain paper, cannot depict the face of the years, empty the pale longings, exile the poetic years, and wait for a season. What is stranded is the time flowing under the tip of the pen. The wind chimes of memory contain your allure. The echo of the heartstrings. The yellowed bookmark is still a forgotten memory on the pillow. Simple luggage, a person's journey, less greetings, less concern, less silent comfort, less...complex emotions, a person's flight, more helplessness, more loneliness and sadness, more... Stronger, more...

Everyone's heart, everyone's memory, has a long and tortuous story. Whether the protagonist is still the same is an irreplaceable suspense. When the memory becomes empty, when the story ends, the footsteps of the wind will not stop, the drifting of the clouds will not scatter, you are still the same, he is still the same. Just the throbbing blessing became the most bizarre scenery in this long night. Dip a stroke of light ink and cover it with the plain paper of the world of mortals, write down your memories, write down his thoughts, and write down your fleeting shadow in the shallow years.

Although I have crossed the ravine of concern, I cannot reach the ridge of the message.

Part 2 of Lyrical Prose about Scenery: The Dancing Elf is Coming

It is the confession of flowers, the surge of spring tide, the tranquility of summer night, and the variety of autumn colors, sent quietly Brocade book. Outside the window, there is a world of dancing elves.

It is making the most spectacular farewell to autumn. It comes gently, like the feathers of a bird, the wind blows up the pompoms, which are the dandelions flying and flying, and like the wings of the butterfly, the wind blows up the water droplets, which is the kaleidoscope turning and turning.

The flowers are scattered all over the leaves of several iron trees, like floating catkins tightly inlaid on the needle tips, coiled up layer by layer, like the turntable of a rake, and like lotus rippling in the blue waves.

The flowers are plucked on the branches of the camphor tree, like a bow wrapped around the branches, hooked one by one, like the tassels of a whip, and like the lingering sound of a guqin in the attic.

The lanterns with flowers falling on the eaves are like crystals spinning on the red carpet, and the dance music is played one after another, like the beating of notes, and like the fairy songs of Magpie Bridge falling into the world.

In the sky, it trembled and fluttered, falling on the branches, accumulating on the rockery, melting on the river surface, dotting the green tiles, and moistening the red walls. It has been raining, the clouds are fluttering, and the water is gurgling. They are not flowers, but they are more dazzling than flowers. A gift from Father Time, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder smoke as firecrackers and fireworks rise into the sky to welcome the arrival of the dancing elves. It doesn't have the low sigh of burying flowers, but it has more character. Water is Qi. If it becomes a flower, it will be full of charm, a song in heaven and on earth.

Part 3 of Lyrical Prose about Scenery: Peach Blossoms Are Another Spring

When I got up early in the morning, I used to look towards the garden in the community downstairs and saw pink peach blossoms everywhere. , blooming brightly and beautifully, dancing with every beautiful charm, opening a full smile to me, making me intoxicated.

It is a joyful thing to enjoy the peach blossoms every spring. The flowering period of peach blossoms is very short. From the moment they bloom, they know how to work hard to bloom and cherish them. Everlasting regret has no place to return to in spring, and I don’t know where to turn. Peach blossoms fail and bloom again. Countless life reincarnations and countless life changes, together with the countless peach blossom romances, arouse my cherishment and gratitude for life. When I was feeling sentimental, I hummed the lyrics of Pingju Opera: "On this day last year, in this door, the faces of the people and the peach blossoms reflected each other's beauty. I don't know where the faces are, but the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze." The singing voice is still there, but the human face is gone. It really echoes the poem by Liu Shang, a poet of the Tang Dynasty, "The east wind blows over the Huangpi River in March, and only peach blossoms can be seen but no people."

The peach blossoms are flowing away, and there is no other world than this world. In spring in the south, peach blossoms can be found everywhere. No matter in deep or shallow valleys, or on the banks of streams and ditches, you can find her silhouette and capture her fragrance. In the north, peach blossoms do not appear all the time, but only during the few days between spring and summer. After May Day, she left quietly. Therefore, I cherish these days when the peach blossoms are in full bloom and will never miss the opportunity to enjoy them. Although I saw the peach blossoms blooming today, I couldn't help but feel more worried about her. The spring cold in the north is very long. When I woke up this morning, I saw that there was still white frost on the black roof of the garage downstairs. Will such cold frost bring some typhoid fever to the peach blossoms? I'm really worried that the cold tomorrow will freeze the peach blossoms. I know that Lianhua's worries are unnecessary, because the weather forecast says that tomorrow's temperature will be higher than today.

I have found a peach garden to escape the Qin Dynasty, and it is another spring of peach blossoms. The belated and graceful shadows of peach blossoms hold up a poetic sky in the north in April. I used poetic meditation to think about the charm of the peach blossoms on the human face, and my heart was still as gentle as before! I stood quietly in the grove of blooming peach blossoms, just like an old man watching the changes in the world. Forgot the hustle and bustle, and also forgot myself...