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The short essay describing the beautiful scenery of autumn is as follows:
1. What a bright autumn, here, there is no longer scorched earth and ashes, this is a vigorous land where thousands of mountains and winds are draped in red carpets. That. The red pines, covered with elastic skins, are still alive, standing proudly on the high mountain rocks, the whistle is jubilant in the valley, and Bai Wang is flying slowly in the rice fields.
2. When the sharp west wind paints the sky high; When the child who called on Mo looked at the last - a goose flying south; When the boundless grass of the vast field is swayed to the point that the plants are withered and yellow, it is autumn at this time, and it is the season for the trees to lose their leaves.
3, the autumn rain hit their faces. Piles of dark gray clouds, low and pressing: the earth.
It was late autumn, and the endless trees in the forest were bare, and the old tree stood gloomy, letting the brown moss hide the wrinkles on its body. The merciless autumn stripped them of their beautiful clothes, and they had to stand there withered.
4. The words are good: "One autumn rain and one cold, ten autumn rains to wear cotton." "There is a hint of coolness in the autumn wind. Look, the pedestrians on the road have inadvertently changed into thick sweaters, jackets, and some even put on down jackets.
5. The rain hits the autumn leaves, such as leaving people's quiet words, whispering and hearing each other, such as crying and complaining: this farewell should be a high mountain and a long road, the meeting is indefinite, the mountains are heavy and the water is restored, and the autumn waves are broken. The shadow moves slightly, roaming the autumn mood, listening to the autumn rhyme and autumn sound to the mouth of the rain.
The small umbrella of the past was propped up again, like a flowing warm residence, and colorful clouds were flying, reminiscing about the lost spring dream. The sky was overcast, and the twilight enveloped the stratus clouds, and the wind and rain fell into the depths of the night. The wind grew stronger, the rain became furious, and the boundless darkness fell into fear.
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The essays describing autumn scenes are as follows:
The long wind carries the fallen leaves, and the mountains and rivers are depressed. In the world that has passed, every journey has perfection, and every season has defects. This desolate time is the end of the grass and trees, but it also creates a waking life.
Living in a house, in the old garden covered by frost, a cluster of autumn chrysanthemums blooms; The osmanthus is fragrant, and on the sparse and oblique cases, a cup of wind dew, drinking the warmth and coldness of the years, and realizing the taste of the world. The grass and trees have waking dreams. Life is a journey after a journey of mountains and rivers, and it is also a repentance after missing again and again.
The four seasons change, life is endless, you can follow the many footsteps with the flow, you can also bring a plant and trees to the red dust, lonely or obscure, as long as it is the heart, it is not worthy of this season, not to live up to this season of flowers.
It is the cool breeze that brings us the first message of autumn from the distant smoke of Saichihuai to the south of the warm ink river, half asleep and half awake, half slightly and half cold. It took away the last trace of splendor and verdant greenery left in the middle of summer, and sprinkled a cold and cool all over the rivers and mountains. The bleak autumn flowers sing the last lamentation in the cold autumn wind; The decayed withered grass dances a waltz of life against the wind.
Who forgot a dream-like past in the wind of Xiao Han? Who was the dream of falling flowers and fireworks and was awakened at the dawn of the remnants of the fog and wind? Who is it, send the lies of youth and the vows of the past to the end of the world with the wind, wait for a season of streamers to fly, watch a flower bloom brilliantly, just to regain a smile and smile.
Is the absence of leaves because of the pursuit of the wind, or because of the tree's retention? It seems that I have never had such a doubt. Life is an ordinary and splendid process, from the first sprout of the green to the last yellow leaf dancing in the wind, this is an irreversible, and already doomed ending.
There is no regret, and there is no sorrow, just like our shallow years, we have gone through the immaturity of the first green, and after the green green, we have to meet the heavy paleness. Sending away the warm summer of youth, how much sympathetic warmth, with the passage of time, scattered into the fluttering in the autumn wind. How many flowers bloom and fall, how many Jinse pay the flow of years, are like the yellow leaves circulating in the wind, covering the past of the green yard and leaking friends, and the traces of the barren come.
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