Emergency emergency emergency emergency emergency emergency! ! This composition is a little vague in my mind.

As soon as the first rain in early summer left, there was no hot and sticky smell in the air, followed by a refreshing and mint-like coolness everywhere.

People walk alone. I found a corner in a corner of the city. Low fence, mixed with a pile of wet sand and mud after the rain. I looked in curiously, but fortunately the low wall blocked my view. Oh, my God, what a beautiful place it is. Under the wall, there are several clusters of fat and tender mushrooms, and beside it, there are several thin and tender grasses. Only a few white flowers stand upright in the middle. The white and moist petals are surrounded by a golden core, which is not messy at all. From green shoots to petals, the color is soft, gradually becoming lighter and watery. Like a soldier.

I couldn't help being stunned by all this, staring at it, and letting the raindrops dripping on the wall soak my clothes and socks. Only the "tick-tock" sound and my heartbeat. Every line and every color in this beautiful picture is firmly imprinted in my heart, and I will remember it for a long time.

It's hard to forget after that. So, after another rainstorm, I came again. Who knows, everything has changed. The fragile low fence could not withstand the baptism of the storm and collapsed. The wooden frame and bricks were jumbled together and broke into rubble. Everything was crushed under the rubble. But those little flowers are still there! They stubbornly emerged from the cracks in the rubble and rotten tiles and stood firm. The petals as white as jade seem to have been washed away by rain and become clearer, more thorough and more beautiful. Let the wind spoil the delicate stamens, and let the heavy rain destroy the gentle face. They never bow their heads and resolutely accept the difficult baptism and experience of the recipients. Because they know that flowers can only bloom once in summer, they cherish this opportunity and never let it slip away. So, I saw the stubborn and tall heads of those flowers and their charming faces. The heart is not warm.

They strive to make themselves beautiful to saturation, and strive to find the meaning of their existence in this narrow land and limited space. Try very hard to let others feel it, feel it. Also let yourself bloom in the mud for the only time.

At the foot of the puddle, the pale sunset glow is reflected, and their beautiful faces are reflected more and more. Somehow, tears have been unconsciously dissatisfied with the eyes. This is what those little flowers brought to me this summer, and I will never forget it.

The cool wind blew away the warm and smiling summer, and an ordinary day was about to pass. But this touch will always be treasured in the deepest part of my memory.

There is a warmth in my heart.

"Well, your face is like this hairstyle." I fiddled with my mother's hair as I spoke. With a smile on her face, my mother looked at me happily in the mirror and said softly, "I combed your hair like this when I was a child."

Yes, how could I forget such a warm scene? Every time I think of it, there will always be some warmth in my heart.

When I was a child, my mother always liked to play with my hair. Every afternoon, we put two small chairs on the balcony. The sun shines on the body, serene and happy. Mother picked up a black mahogany comb, combed my unkempt hair very smoothly, and then gently gathered it together and braided it into various braids. Sometimes it's a lively and playful ponytail, sometimes it's a quiet twist, and some people put flowing hair behind their heads ... My mother's hand dances flexibly between my hair tips, like a magical magician closing his eyes, and even the sunshine is happy.

Comb my hair. Time slips through my hair tips. I don't want to have long hair when I grow up, but I'm happy to cut it into the most fashionable hairstyle. My mother's hands can no longer dance between my hair.

Several times, she came to my room, put her hand on my hair and whispered, "Why don't I comb your hair?" "No, can't you see I'm busy? How should I comb my hair? " I replied casually. Mother bowed her head in embarrassment with a look of loss in her eyes. She closed the door quietly, and then there was a sigh. Inadvertently, I fell in love with her again.

My mother always wants to communicate with me, but I always refuse her. Thinking of this, I hurried out.

I handed the mahogany comb to my mother. "Mom, comb my hair!" Mother looked up with surprise on her face. She stood close to me and combed my hair carefully. I stood in the sun like milk, and the sun shone obliquely from the opposite roof. Mother's face is serene and happy. Mother told a joke and both mother and daughter laughed. The room is full of encouragement and morning laughter. ...

These familiar images reappeared in front of my eyes, and some warmth reappeared in my heart.

Now it's my turn to comb my mother's hair. "Mom, I'll comb it for you again." My mother's hair slipped through my fingers, but love was in my hand.

Comb my hair. On the track of growing up, I can never slip out of my mother's deep love. This love, whenever I think of it, my heart will be a little warm!

Some memories are in my mind.

Time urges the youth of the years, creaking all the way. Years have accumulated, echoing in my ears like a euphemistic song. I cherish the memory of growing up in this song.

I remember the first time I entered the school gate of junior high school. At the end of August, the sun is still scorching the earth. I gently wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked back at my father at the school gate. He waved at me in anticipation. My eyes crossed the banner of "Welcome New Students" and touched every grass and tree on campus. Everything around me is so fresh. Think of my father's words, "Son, when you grow up, it's up to you!" " "I can't help but clench my fist, my blood is boiling in my chest, I have strengthened my faith and started the struggle in junior high school.

From then on, I will go to bed late and get up early, attend lectures and do problems, and strive to get back progress and awards. But I always feel that something is missing.

During the summer vacation, my father took me on a long trip. Standing on a lonely dragon gate, looking up at Buddha's tolerant, calm and wise smile, my father said with deep affection like a philosopher: "Calm is not only a state of mind, but also a character." I suddenly understood that it is more important to write "capitalized people" with your heart and meditate with your heart in order to be an indomitable person. I remember more about the ancient people's admonition to "read thousands of books and follow Wan Li Road".

Back to school, I put aside my boring troubles and nervousness and lived with my heart. Work for the class without asking for anything in return, and help students regardless of time. In the admiring eyes of people around me, I saw my growth.

One day in June, I came home, filled my father with a glass of wine and sat down with him to drink. Father got up and went back to the house, holding the prize I won. My father gave me a little honor. Joy is on my face and my eyes are full of love. Father gently flattened the certificate. "Son, grades only represent the past, just memories. In the later life, you should stand up and take responsibility. More importantly, you should cherish the motherland and treat others with sincerity! " He patted me on the shoulder. I know. At that time, my father told me to stand up straight and pursue my dreams bravely. I know that whenever and wherever, I will have a "China heart".

Years are like songs, and growth is the main theme. Under the guidance of my father, I shed my naivety and moved towards maturity. Looking back, I carefully put away these memories, understand them, and always pay attention to my head. Years like songs will surely become a celebration ceremony and music played for me. I want to leave that time, read the notebook of memories with me and drink a glass of nectar.

It's hard to give up in my heart

I have been helping my parents clean up my grandparents' old house recently. My grandparents are moving away to a new house closer to our home.

Busy in the old house, looking at everything I was familiar with since I was a child, I lost the joy of being moved, but I was reluctant to give up.

Standing in the corner of youth, everything here is as clear as yesterday. The overflow of emotions in old houses often makes my heart throb. Here, I keep the mark of my growth completely. To me, it's more like a castle that opens memories.

Approaching the small balcony, leaning against the outdated wooden door, watching the pots of flowers cared for by grandma, still blooming as wantonly as in the past, as if I didn't know the news of leaving. The smiles of flowers are still as beautiful as when my grandmother told me their names when I was a child, and the flowering period of flowers continues. The dozens of flowers that have passed have long been engraved in my life and hidden in my heart with grandma's smile.

On the warm little balcony, there is a small wooden stool, and the rough surface is even out of place with the balcony, but it used to be my favorite baby. I remember when I was a child, I liked to climb the high windowsill to see the outside world, but I was too young, so my grandfather specially made this Xiao Mu stool for me. I grow taller every year, and now I am much taller than the windowsill, but I am willing to step on that small board every time and feel the warmth.

Looking around this old house, whether it's my graffiti on the wall or the doll my grandfather bought me, it's a happy time. My childhood is gone, and the old house is leaving. Grandparents are a few years older unconsciously, but this love will not fade. Even if the room is getting old, it has been closely protecting the warmth my grandparents gave me, and every time I am lost, I can get a new warm current.

Staring at the past, silent. This old house has gone far beyond the bedroom. It always tells me that it is the scavenger of my years and gently picks up the innocence and beauty when I grow up. It is the old house that is hard to give up, and it is a good memory with my family.

A little sadness in my heart will turn into a star that will never dissipate in my memory, into gratitude and care for my family, and accompany me to continue my journey of life.

Some happiness is in my heart.

In the distant sky, a small kite was stranded there.

I still remember how many afternoons in Qiu Guang, I held my kite high and flew forward, ignoring my long hair. The kite suddenly rises in the wind, like a small flower blooming in the air. My father is behind me with a shallow shaft. We sat side by side, and the gentle sunshine poured down on them like a lake. You held my little hand tightly, and I tilted my head slightly and stared at his sunny smile, suddenly feeling a little happy.

Time has cut through the sunshine, and our simple happiness has been forgotten by time. I begged again and again, but you kept me busy. We haven't flown kites together for months.

I dug out the kite from the bottom of the old carton, and its luster had faded and it was grayish yellow by time. The kite finally took off. Unexpectedly, in a short time, he leaned left and right and plunged into a tall branch.

"Dad, our kite is broken ..." I cried at the other end of the phone and my throat choked.

"Nothing, nothing, you come back for dinner first."

The bleak autumn wind feebly blows up the fallen leaves on the ground, and the faint clouds wander lazily in the sky. Our happiness has flowed away.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, my father was sitting in front of a steaming table waiting for me. I went up to him, sat down, ate and said nothing. There is an inexplicable cold silence between each other.

Just as I left the restaurant, I was shocked by a bottle of turbid liquid on the refrigerator. I clearly remember that my father used to make kites for me by himself. He bent the bamboo bone with a simple big hand, tied it, gently coated it with glue, slowly pasted white paper, flattened it, smoothed it out, and finally drew a beautiful pattern and gave it to me. Young I regard it as a treasure, and a happy smile overflows my face.

At that time, there was no memory of every inch of light, and I was not the only one who missed it. You love me as always and always remember the happiness that belongs to you and me. I was just careless, as if I never realized it. The old glue bottle awakened my dream.

I picked up the broom and cleaned the ground slowly and carefully. The back of you picking up leftovers is thin and lonely. Tears that have been hidden for a long time keep falling.

They sat side by side in the soft sunshine like a lake. He always holds his daughter's small hand tightly, and a bright smile looms from his brow, and a trace of warm happiness comes to mind. Happiness is holding each other's hands and lasting forever.

I miss you in my heart.

In the examination room of life, the whole class and the teacher behind them urged and entrusted. In junior high school, I like to talk about those happy poems with my classmates, and I like to sing songs of those years with my teachers. How I want to compose a piece of music to express my thoughts.

The first movement: Happy Flowers

Coincidentally, I was assigned to her class and became her "little soldier". But she doesn't despise my idea at all because I am a soldier, and she doesn't respect and restrain herself because she is a "boss". In the past three years, every assignment she approved was perfect, and every courseware she made was improving. We talk to each other like friends. She told me that managing a class doesn't need too many languages, and sometimes it even needs a positive look ... I was lucky to meet her, and happiness is related to her. She sprinkled flowers on the road and guided me step by step.

So, the perfect flower is in my heart.

The second movement: Lightning and Thunder Polka

On a stormy night, he knocked on my door by mistake, when he should have tuned the piano for his neighbor. I practiced piano at home alone, but I didn't hesitate to open the door for him. The words "don't open the door to strangers who are alone at home" suddenly lost their power in front of him. Yes, he is not a stranger. He is a friend of music. He went straight to the piano, and in an instant, the trembling sound of the piano was pouring out from his fingertips. On my face, I saw a pair of eyes that turned a deaf ear to everything but had a soft spot for music. It tells me that we are destined to be a teacher-student relationship. He took me face to face with the storm of music, but never charged tuition to defile the sacred music. At the climax, I suddenly got up, completely ignoring the kicked stool and the broken cup, only remembering his persistent eyes.

So, I take the fanatical storm to heart.

The third movement: planting the sun

With the hope of the first day, we planted many suns. Into the welfare home, we and the children there and the author's dreams can be realized; Under the locust tree on campus, we share the message that "every man is responsible for the rise and fall of the world" with our teachers. In Lang Lang's classroom, each of us read aloud the "class story" of the day; On the stage under the red flag, we sang the dance music of youth ... from acquaintance to acquaintance, from acquaintance to companionship, we planted seeds and harvested the sun.

So, keep the seeds of the sun in your heart.

Fourth movement: I miss you in my heart.

Miss, that thing is as perfect as a flower, miss that thing is as crazy as a storm, miss that thing is as brilliant as the sun. I miss you very much in my heart. I know this is not only the only memory, but our blessing.

I feel a little idle.

In early summer, I walked through the courtyard wall and happened to see some blooming roses.

Afternoon hot air, with a thick laziness, brushed a wall, busy as brocade, very lively. When I took a closer look, I was disappointed. Delicate flowers seem to be unable to stand the heat of summer and lose their vitality. The original round petals rolled up, and the flower heart turned a little yellow at first, and they all withered. The flowers in a hurry raise dust and add a bit of gloom to them. I wanted to feel colorful poetry, but in vain.

I saw a broken flower branch on the ground when I left. I felt sorry for it for a while and took it home and put it in the study.

The next day, it was still sultry. I went to the dark study for the summer and opened the door, but I was speechless for a moment.

The dark study seemed to be lit at the moment of opening the door, and every antique musical instrument seemed to suddenly come alive.

Yes, it is a rose!

A few rays of light shone on the flower branch from the crack of the door, and the flower branch suddenly jumped up. These flowers are all in full bloom. Flowers stick out from the black porcelain bottle, put them on the folded book, stretch their limbs delicately, and proudly hold up one snow-white flower after another. Roses are delicate and white, and cicada-like petals are crystal clear and moist, almost transparent. The whole house was refreshed by it.

For a moment, I only felt that there was pride in the thin branches to prop up a sky, drive away all darkness, stand proudly, and a faint sadness filled me.

The same kind of rose, this kind of branch is particularly beautiful, not because of the difference of the flower itself, but because of the difference of the external environment.

Growing up in a restless world, roses are covered with dust, which makes them dull. If you plant them in a light and leisurely study, the flowers will look noble, elegant and beautiful.

Life keeps repeating itself. Walking in the world of mortals, we can't decide the external environment, we are the roses. But unlike flowers, we can choose our own mood.

If the mood is leisurely and elegant, the flowers will be noble and proud, not afraid of dust.

Secularity is not the only criterion for judging things. If the eyes are fascinated by dust, the principle will often be shaken. Only when you are calm and indifferent can you see clearly, correctly, principled and unshakable.

Since then, I often leave some leisure in my heart. Don't be confused by one thing, and don't shake the principle anyway, because there is a white rose in my heart, and I will keep it noble forever.