Asking for a junior high school essay, a thousand word essay about the seasons does not have to be a

In autumn, there are endless waves of golden wheat, waiting under the vast expanse of plane trees, and ...... notes pouring down from the window

The autumn wind blows the wheat all over the field, clear and yellow, hanging heavily, shaking, welcoming the industrious people to collect them. The adults carried sickles and sang the trumpets of labor, and went to the countryside happily, bending down, little by little, carefully and patiently harvesting, and even the air was filled with a sense of abundant joy. The autumn wind blows the wheat fields, the wheat fields caress the farmers, and the farmers smile and nod.

In a golden wave, the small figure was melted like this.

As a young child, I stood barefoot and watched their busy figures, and for the first time realized that the harvest was so beautiful, so I made up my mind that I could find my own golden wheat field and my own autumn ...... when I was next autumn

Autumn promise.

The leaves of the sycamore tree outside the window fell again, and large swaths of the ground fell down and flew in the air wantonly, spinning, jumping, and finally transformed into an ordinary leaf, curled up its body, and lay quietly on the ground, humming the parting tail ......

Ruri, Shengru finally left....I still remember the scene of the first encounter, surrounded by large pieces of fallen sycamore leaves, and it was also in such a season, Liuli slowly stretched out her hand, and the corners of her mouth were shallow smiles, in this inexplicable sad season, dotted with a little bright ......

Now, it is still this season, also under the plane tree, but there is no glazed figure. I held the withered sycamore leaves in my hands, and silently recited the name of the glass in my heart, and in the coming year, I will use the sycamore leaves as evidence to meet ...... again under the tree

It turned out that this year's autumn also brought a touch of sadness and astringent memories ......

Autumn note.

When the fiery maple leaves stained the sky red, a new family moved upstairs, and every day there would be intermittent harmonica sounds upstairs, or trivial, or coherent, or long, forming wonderful notes, in my exhaustion, these naughty notes drilled into my heart, and there were bursts of ripples of dry laughing eggplant, plucking my heartstrings, and seeing this encouraged me to work hard. So, again and again, the books that were originally put down were picked up again, there was an extra pair of focused eyes in the classroom, there was one less jumping figure between classes, and there was an inextinguishable light ...... in the night

When the staccato notes finally became a song, my autumn finally flowed with the sweat of struggle and galloped ...... on the field of hope

Listen, my autumn seems to be coming again......

The autumn sky, paved with the breath of desolation, flows in the lonely years, and simply interprets the laughter of growth, which is the most beautiful color in our lives through the experience of morning dew and the formation of the dust of the four seasons, soaked in the past of many years.

The majestic time, through the vastness of memory, fills every corner of the soul with the story, turning it into a unique and gorgeous scenery, wantonly graffiti on the script of youth. At that moment, the dream was sublimated by reality, transcending this noisy world, and spreading the fragrant fragrance of three thousand miles in all poetic and flexible moments.

I don't know if this feeling is real, but maybe, when I wake up from the dream, I will remember, remember the times I had, and remember the faces I had met before. I just don't know if my tired soul will get a moment of rest when the fragrant fireflies bloom into a dreamy shadow, as quiet and comfortable as the sea.

The wind of memory, tearing the notes of modernity, is swift in the ears, forming a broken ballad, and finally covering the past. And I still like to wander in the sea of people and watch the white clouds in the sky, but every time I read it, I will feel inexplicably confused, and I feel like a delicate dandelion, which will be carried away by the gust of wind anytime and anywhere.

Perhaps, the tense and fast pace of life every day has already overwhelmed itself, the darkness in reality, the helplessness in life, makes the numb heart more and more old, and the memory is getting darker and darker. I really want to go back to the good old days, even if it's a moment in my dreams, at least so that I can relive the memories of the past that have settled in the depths of my heart, and then quietly release it in reality.

In fact, I have always been very grateful to the friends who have walked with me over the years, although the waves of time have rushed each other to the distance of memory, but the thoughts left have never stopped, I really miss you, but time can no longer find the clues when I go back.

The floating leaves, caressing the face of the years, remembering the past, the encounter was missed, the missed was forgotten, and the forgotten was remembered, it was very contradictory, and we were in such a cycle, going around and around with the white boy's head.

I also know that the reality has never changed, the busy is just life, facing the window of the four seasons, we seem to have lost ourselves, and can no longer find traces of the past.

The vast sea of people, fate comes and goes, when the cold time tears the memory to pieces, it becomes so easy to forget, those who were familiar with all kinds of things, the passage of time in the wind of the years gradually faded away, how many people are looking for it, but can no longer find it, the past that was swept up by the wind, instantly hazy eyes.

The past is gone, the old dream is difficult to open, immersed in the story of his own weaving, slowly meeting with the years, remembering whose face, talking about whose old things, only sighing that the dream is rare, and the feeling of missing this in vain.

The autumn wind rises, the red leaves fall, but I don't know, the dream is vague, and there are many things in the past. Original).