That red leaf warms my heart.

In normal study, work or life, everyone will be exposed to writing to some extent. Writing is an important means to cultivate people's observation, association, imagination, thinking and memory. So have you ever learned anything about composition? The following is an excellent composition that I carefully arranged that red leaf warms my heart. Welcome to share.

Outside the glass window, the dead leaves are round and round, and the loquat has been braced. I sat at my desk and looked out against the morning glow. I caught a glimpse of his backlit back, red, like a dark red and mottled fallen leaf.

In the street at 6 o'clock in the morning, the street lamp has not been extinguished, and the faint light beam coming down from the viaduct can add a few dimness to the dry and cold road surface.

I quietly pushed the car in along a small crack in the east gate of the school. Every now and then, he would stick his head out of the security room, rub his hands and take out temperature measuring gun from the right pocket of the red volunteer suit.

"drop". "good".

he is always so quiet.

when I go to the classroom, hand in my homework, and sit down to start reading early, the sound of swiping my card at the school gate gradually becomes dense. I walked to the window, propped up the unheated radiator, and looked at the dawn, and saw a hunchbacked little old man scrambling to take the temperature of the eager students who wanted to enter the campus. Every time he tests a student, I can feel a "good" word popping out of his thin dry lips full of white stubble. I always feel that he is in a daze, because he has asked me more than four times what grade I am wearing a school uniform with a completely different color from the other two grades.

last Saturday, I had to go to school for some reason to get the answer sheet I left at the gate. According to the lessons of the eighth grade, I specially covered a jacket with the most distinctive features of this grade. When I arrived at the school gate, I heard The Yellow River Cantata on his radio: "It is the artery of China, and the blood of the nation runs around it. The sun is shining brightly ... "

At that time, he was sweeping the floor, and the broom swept up a handful of leaves and dust with the rhythm of music. He is still wearing a red volunteer uniform.

"Hello, Grandpa." He may be a little hard of hearing, and the music is playing loudly, and he ignored me. "Hello, Grandpa, may I come in and get the answer sheet?" He was at a loss in surprise, then smiled, nodded, walked to the corner table, put down the broom, turned down the radio, pulled out a remote control key and a temperature measuring gun from his right pocket, and slowly limped towards me.

"drop". "good".

His hand holding temperature measuring gun was gentle and powerful.

I don't know when, but the man who has been guarding us year after year has frosted his eyebrows. This person who is unknown to teachers and students year after year is still as silent as a red leaf.

the dead branches in the garden under the teaching building are gradually exposed. The wind is blowing, and the busy little old man is trembling in the wind, like an imperfect maple leaf, ordinary but warm.

That red leaf has warmed me and countless spring, summer, autumn and winter on campus.