Who is the author standing at the door of the old house 10

Stand at the door of the old house.

The door of the old house has been locked by the years.

It is a courtyard gate painted with bright red paint, but under the destruction and corrosion of the years, it is mottled, dilapidated and old. When I was a child, my mother would always lean against the door and wait patiently for me to come back from school. Now, this warm and sweet picture can only be deeply engraved in my mind, and gradually fade under the wash of time.

It was the happiest place of my childhood. Very quiet living place, red brick walls, old-fashioned apartment building. There is an old lawn in the yard that I often go to after school.

What I remember most is the old locust tree in the yard, every midsummer, there will be a large area of thick shade, and there are often old people under the tree to set up a small bench, sitting there to pluck beans or enjoy the shade. On sunny afternoons, my mother would take me to dry the sheets in the garden, and when the breeze blows, I can smell the faint scent of roses.

The door of the old house has been locked by the years. The people who lived in the yard were moving one after another. What I didn't expect was that my family would move with me as well. This is the result of the passage of time, and people's hearts will always change with the development of the times.

Time has updated everything here. The smell of the countryside fades away with the roar of cars. In an instant, it turned into a huge concrete forest. In the past, this rustic hot land can not withstand the city fair, and under the alternation of time, it has transformed into prosperity.

Outside the window, it is the twilight of the city. As noisy as ever. The sky shrouded in smoke.

The pedestrians on the road had indifferent expressions and were numb. A car sped by, splashing the mud on the side of the road onto the pedestrian, who was distorted in anger and cursed the driver.

I stood at the door of the old house, and beautiful floating shadows appeared again in front of me: the twilight of the dusk was gradually deepening, the fields were green, the peach blossoms on the hills were blooming, and the villages in the distance were lying quietly in the charming night......

Candidates from Jianli County, Jingzhou City, Hubei Province: An Ran.

The old house has lived for more than a hundred years. Its windows had become black holes, and its door panels had broken holes. It hasn't been inhabited for a long, long time.

It was a weather-beaten old house, with jagged weeds everywhere in front of and behind the house, moss on the steps, dark green creepers on the walls, and wooden fences scattered on the ground, except for a small section that stood alone. The skin of the walls of the old house has long since peeled off, revealing the red bricks and tiles and flecks of weathered loess inside.

The door of the old house was ajar, and the bottom of the door was gnawed by rats with several irregular holes, and from time to time a few rats would go in and out of the holes. The windows are in tatters, and the screens are long gone. In the corner was a broken couch with springs popping out and cotton exposed.

The spider took over the eaves and roof and made a home in the old house.

This is the first brick house built in this village, and it has been used for nearly 100 years. It has been inhabited by several generations, and now only this old house stands on its own, like an old man in his old age, slowly telling people about the history of the past.

The desolate old house is like a weathered old man who has walked the road of pure hypocrisy. But the shadow of the old house has been deeply seared in my mind, remaining in my memory, no matter how time changes, I will never forget.

The mottled earthen walls burst open with a few cracks. No matter how you look at it, the old house is like a weathered old man, and the years are so ruthless, making this quiet land so desolate and depressed, my tears flowed. I couldn't bear to stay long, so I quietly left the old house.

Although the old house has disappeared from this world, it has deeply entered my heart...How many times have I dreamed of going back to the old house. Woke up with tears in my eyes.

A low, small wooden house, with only a layer of gray tiles draped over the roof, has eroded the door of the old house over time. And I wandered in the doorway, thinking about the ordinary little things.

It was the grandfather who guarded the old house. He liked to sit in the doorway, smoking a self-rolled dry cigarette in one gulp. And every time he choked on his trousers, he hurriedly beckoned me to beat him on the back.

That scene repeated itself for a few years. And the remnant sun at the door of the old house that I remember dyed red fell and rose, rose and fell. Inadvertently, grandpa is gone.

The door of the old house creaked and swayed in the wind, and all that was swaying was a bleak heartache, and after all, there was no one sitting at the door of the old house.

Later, she moved to a new house, but her grandmother insisted on staying in that old house. She didn't explain, she just sat in silence like her grandfather, and everyone couldn't disobey her. But a little sensible I think that the door of this old house carries too much.

When I come home from school, I like to sit on the small bench at the door of the old house and do my homework, so that it is quiet and I can be with my grandmother. Grandma loved to nag and nag about the past that I was curious about. Occasionally, old women gather at the door of the old house to talk about who will go first, as usually, as if they were at home.

But occasionally I would hear my grandmother complain that the bad old man had gone too early. At that time, I don't know if it was my grandmother leaning against the door, or if the door was leaning against my grandmother. Alone, I choked back tears and listened to her whimper, but I couldn't cry.

After a long time, the old house has become a crumbling and dilapidated house. The people in the village persuaded my father to tear down the house, but I was unwilling, and of course, my father insisted on not agreeing. I remember him walking with me to the padlock door of the old house and listening to him murmur:

When I'm old, I'll still live in this house. I think I understand: my grandparents are here, and my father must have seen them at this door; And people who are nearly middle-aged also think of their own destiny.

At that time, I innocently responded: Dad, when I am old, I will also live in this house. Dad didn't squeak, touched the small wooden door, turned around and left.

I think he didn't want to cry at the door of the old house, for fear that his grandparents would be sad when they saw it.

And now, I stand at the door of the old house, reluctant to push it away, for fear of touching the dusty past. The bureau is ruined, but some things, like the door of an old house, have gone through too much, but Blind Jane is still silent. I don't dare to disturb the silence and vicissitudes of this time, but I think that between today and tomorrow, there may be only one door, and we are all standing at the door of the years, reminiscing about the past events and people.

I stood at the door of the old house, thinking about the ordinary little things. The door of the old house has been locked by the years.