Five essays on missing the third grade.

I miss my old self, but I don't want to go back. I just want to find that unique happiness in nostalgia. I'd like to share with you some essays about missing the third grade, hoping to help you.

Composition about mis that third grade 1

Country roads are songs in my life. In the ancient story, in the songs of the years, in the clear stream, I sang this song depicting the years, missing the carefree rural life and the picturesque rural scenery.

Walking in the country, the path is full of flowers on both sides, breathing fresh air. Those flowers are colorful, like a slim girl, charming and lovely. They are as dazzling as Xia Hong on the horizon and as gorgeous as rainbows after rain.

When we were young, we were always so naive and full of energy. When I was a child, I always asked some friends to walk and play in some big trees next to my kindergarten. It was summer, and the sun in the sky scorched the earth. Many flowers have taken off their delicate and beautiful coats, but a few pine trees still hold their heads high and stand out in the hot sun. No matter how exposed to the hot sun, the pine tree still looks like a senior general. So we climbed the tree to enjoy the cool. There will be resin on the tree, and we will collect it for fun. After climbing the tree, we will still decorate the house. In a word, those big trees left us a few cheerful laughter.

After climbing the tree, we went to play in the stream by the river. The stream is green, trickling and crystal clear, like a ribbon, and a beautiful flower pond is set up in the mountain village. We took off our shoes, pulled up our trouser legs and jumped into the stream. You chase me, I chase you, and we have a good time. We took some stones when we went back, and the water splashed all over us. I was scolded by my grandparents when I went back, but it didn't affect my mood at all. The news of the countryside haunts our footsteps.

I came back at night and was fascinated by the small farmhouse surrounded by pine trees. The afterglow of the setting sun scattered on the red brick and blue tile house through layers of branches and leaves, giving him a layer of Huang Cancan color, and plumes of smoke emerged from the chimney. Several swallows flew in the air. When the last sunset disappeared, it was almost dark and the whole village was silent.

The countryside is really beautiful, and I miss its poetic life. Old vines and faint crows, small bridges and flowing water. He is like the moonlight sinking into the bottom of the pool, which has no beginning and no end.

About missing the third grade composition II

Memory is like a clear stream, which is covered with many colorful memory stones. Those stones recorded many unforgettable things, and one of them made me feel very kind and I can't forget it for a long time.

It was a summer vacation, and the scorching sun made the earth smoke. The air seems to have solidified, and people don't want to go out. Only a few people are walking feebly outside. In this weather, I can only stay in an air-conditioned room, feeling temporarily cool, but people are bored.

However, this weather didn't keep me at home. After a family meeting, my parents said they would take me to climb the mountain.

Our family will leave soon. After several hours' drive, we reached the foot of the mountain. Unexpectedly, the weather here is hotter than at home. As soon as I got off the bus, a heat wave hit my face and almost lifted me into the air. My eyes are a little in a trance. I hurried back to the car and wanted my parents to take me straight back. But my attempt not only failed, but also was scolded. In desperation, I had to go back and fight the heat wave.

The hotel bus came and took us to the inn halfway up the mountain. It's finally cooler than the foot of the mountain. There are some cicadas chirping in the bushes, but we are not interested in watching, so we are nervously preparing.

We heard that we can see the sunrise in the morning at the top of this mountain, so we agreed to see the sunrise tomorrow morning.

It was said that tomorrow morning, my parents woke me up early in the morning and said it would take time to go up the mountain. I had to follow my adult and set off in the dark. The mountain forest at night is scary, and it is quiet around, but you can hear the chirping of a few bugs. I'm so scared. I'm afraid a snake will bite me later, or I'll slip into the valley by accident.

What are you afraid of? What's coming? Suddenly, I don't know what I stepped on. What if it is "cracked"? Did I open the door to a new world, or did I accidentally step on a wild animal? I was surprised and broke into a cold sweat. However, there has always been a voice in my heart that supports me and keeps me moving forward. It is my father who has been encouraging me. Although I'm still scared, I'm not worried about anything. My parents are here. What am I worried about?

The sky brightens slightly, the surrounding scenery seems to be softer and kinder, and the distant mountains are unveiling their veils bit by bit. Those big trees, grass and flowers welcomed me one after another. They shook their clothes and greeted me. Cicada is singing loudly, and I seem to be integrated with this mountain. When I got to the balcony, there were already many people here. I heard someone say, "Look!" I chased the sky, and the sky was breaking dawn. On the horizon, the night was torn a long hole. Then, the red sun showed its face. It seems to be very happy. The light was several times higher than usual, and those dark clouds turned into blazing coal. I looked at the beautiful scenery and forgot all the fatigue.

This trip, let me feel the beautiful rivers and mountains of the motherland, but also honed my will, let me become more brave and strong! This is the most intimate memory I cherish in my heart!

About missing the third grade composition 3

In spring and March, it is a good time to fly kites. Standing on the balcony overlooking Saddle Park, there are countless people flying kites. Look at the blue sky again. All kinds of kites fly freely in the sky and fly against the wind. This lively scene reminds me of my childhood memories. ...

When I was a child, flying kites was my favorite pastime. Every weekend, I ask my mother to take me to fly kites. I will feel a sense of pride when I see the kite flying high. At this time, I will dance and shout to my mother in the distance: "The kite is flying, flying …" If it rains, I will be very upset at home, as if something is missing.

One noon, my mother told me an exciting news: the whole family is going to fly kites on the playground of Wensan Middle School. This makes me very happy. How exciting it is for a loyal kite lover to finally have a chance to compete with his sister. I happily took out the big butterfly kite from home and couldn't wait to come to Wensan Middle School with my mother and sister.

Listen, my sister challenged me as soon as we arrived. She is a "big dragonfly", rising slowly with running. I was in a hurry, so I got up and ran after the butterfly. Holding the spool, I ran as fast as I could, looking back from time to time to observe the movement of the kite. Suddenly, I felt my foot tripped over something and fell to the ground with a bang. My knee is skinned and stings a little. I subconsciously looked at the kite, and it seemed to swing without the support of the wind. I feel my heart pounding and I don't know where it came from. I actually struggled to get up and ran to the front. The wind, whirring in my ear, I forgot the pain and fatigue, I just want to make the kite fly higher. When I looked back, the kite miraculously rose, and its wings seemed to flap. I stopped and looked at the beautiful big butterfly. I not only have joy in my heart, but also have the courage to overcome difficulties. ...

Still a lively crowd, still a variety of kites, and I have already integrated into them. ...

About missing the third grade composition 4

"There were three fans with handles. Unfortunately, there is only one handle left. Now this kind of fan made of straw is hard to find. " Grandma sighed with regret. Some old handles in my hand are shaking and shaking without authorization. ...

On summer nights, I really can't stand the hot and solidified air when I was young, and I keep turning on the wooden bed like a grasshopper in a hot pot. Seeing this, grandpa picked up a fan on the bedside table and fanned out a gentle wind. The soft grass fan exudes the sweetness of the sun. I grabbed grandpa's clothes and pulled them a few times: "Tell a story!" " In the gentle breeze, grandpa didn't respond, so I begged him again: "Just tell one, one!" " ""all right. " Grandpa answered in a hoarse and low voice. I snuggled in grandpa's warm body, listened and thought under his gray beard, and gradually fell asleep. In this way, I don't know how many summer nights passed.

If grandpa's wind is gentle, then grandma's wind is spiritual and kind.

When I was a child, I always felt that the food was hot, especially when I drank porridge, and I often had to wait for fifteen minutes. And grandma used her spiritual wind to help me cool porridge and brush away the heat. The porridge is cold and the conversation begins. Grandma likes to talk, but she doesn't listen to Fan's hand. What came with the wind was what she saw in various families. This is the world where grandpa and I listen to grandma together. Now I can still remember the scene clearly. My grandmother said it with her mouth, but also with her face. Black curls moves with people. Grandpa drinks porridge spoonfuls, sometimes inserts a sentence or two, and takes chopsticks to pick up food. I looked at the two old people, but I didn't know that the porridge in the bowl was cold. Grandma's fan is still shaking.

As the days passed, I grew up happily and comfortably under the care of my grandparents.

Now, my grandparents have moved away and live far away from us. I went to middle school, and I had less free time, but the fan still stayed in my memory, with two people who loved me and gave me endless warmth.

About missing the third grade composition 5

In a blink of an eye, three months passed quietly.

I have come to a new school, but I still remember my desire and anxiety when I entered junior high school. What I can't forget is the struggle and crying of my classmates in the ball game. Everything is like dew in the morning. Before it began to paint beautiful scenery, it became foam in the waves.

Wang Lao, I still clearly remember your lecture in class, your euphemistic tone, warm eyes and smile. In the third grade, you often used a serious tone and sharp eyes. Contribute to the success of our third grade. In the tug-of-war with time, you are always with us: getting to school early and leaving school late, expanding the list, papers and all kinds of teaching materials, all fly through your fingers with the passage of the third grade, like a hurried youth.

One month before the entrance examination, you began to find all kinds of good questions for us. Influenced by my deskmate, I don't like to brush questions, and I have more than 30 questions in my hand. Whenever I ask you a question, you always put down what you are busy with and patiently answer it for me. I remember when I was in the second grade, I was tired of math because I was always named by you. Talk to me after you know, so that my opinion of you disappears. I pick up my favorite math again and go into battle lightly.

Xie Lao, over the past three years, you have taught me not only persistence, but also love for life. If people don't love life, how can they expect something from their own life? I am still an inexperienced child in the first grade. Three years later, I want to report my life with a song.

It is always said that children without umbrellas should run hard, and my teachers, like umbrellas and lighthouses, shelter me from the wind and rain and light up the harbor of my heart.

On the day of the 100-day swearing-in, you wore a red dress and told us your deepest hopes and blessings. The light hits your face, and suddenly you find that your face is much paler. Continuous fatigue makes you a little tired, but you still shout nine lessons to the sky with the most powerful voice, so that the oath echoes in our hearts.

I remember that on the night of parting, I was also selected by you to give a speech on the stage. Excited heart, trembling hands. While speaking, my eyes have already returned to three years ago, just like a dream, a dream that has not been awakened but has long been awake. I also want to shoulder with my male classmates, chat with my female classmates and talk with my teacher about the future. ...

Weak water 3 thousand, just take a ladle to drink, just this ladle, the taste is myriad. Maybe it's wine: indulging in that dreamlike three years; Perhaps it is tea, which has endured three years of turning into a cloud in an instant; Maybe tea. It's bland, but sweet and crisp. ...

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