Write a short essay within 50 70 words

I love cacti, not only do I like it, but I admire it.

My home was not in a building, but in a village. At that time, I still had a yard in my house. On one side against the wall, there is a row of green plants, among which there are two or three pots of cacti.

Since then, I've loved cacti. I naturally love green, while most of the other plants wilt in winter, except for the cactus, which is green all year round.

Later, my family moved into a building, and by chance, my mother and I went to the flower market. There, I saw my favorite cactus again. That day, I asked my mom to buy me two pots of different kinds of cacti. So, I had a cactus in my house again.

If I want to say the biggest cactus I've ever seen, it's the one I saw in the Yangling Expo Park. Not long ago, the school organized us to go on an outing to Yangling, and there is a greenhouse in the Botanical Museum in the Expo Garden. Once inside, I saw a globular cactus with a maximum circumference of more than three meters.

Then you will see a very tall cylindrical cactus with a height of three meters and two branches on the main stem. The overall shape resembles a steel fork.

From the cactus in my yard, I have deeply experienced his strong character, only he does not wither in winter, and only he does not die due to lack of water in summer. The cactus lives in the desert, and although it is not very good-looking, it can quench the thirst of people in the desert. Picking a piece of tender stem and putting it in his mouth, chewing it carefully, although he does not have the crispness of peach and plum, and the lubrication of lychee, but his sourness has a hint of sweet taste, which is refreshing.

Whether in solitude or oblivion, in contempt or other injustices, the cactus always retains its true self. It spits out stalks of tender stems for people to feed; It will use its own green to make the country a little bit of it. Why doesn't this make me awe-inspired?

Due to the incomplete question stem and the lack of specific conditions, it cannot be normal.

2019-09-01Let's talk.

Lyricism is a writing method that expresses one's thoughts and feelings by describing things. The key to using the lyrical method of borrowing objects is to find out where the characteristics of the object resonate with your feelings, so that the objects and feelings are unified and the feelings can be relied on.

I used to have a candle in my house, but I have long since discarded it.

One night, a blue-black curtain covered the sky. I was just about to do my homework, when suddenly the lights went off, the TV stopped working, and I couldn't write my homework. But the homework has to be handed in tomorrow, and I can't help it, so I can only write vaguely by the bright moonlight.

When I wrote about plum blossoms, I suddenly thought of candles. I opened the window to let in more moonlight. I rummaged through the cabinets and saw a faint gray-red shadow, which I concluded was a candle.

Walk in and take a look, ha! As I expected. I searched again and finally found a lighter.

I went back to my desk, fixed the candle, lit it with a lighter, and a flash of light quickly bloomed from the room, a faint glow warming the room. I'm doing my homework again. After a while, the homework was done.

I was bored, so I looked at the candle and watched as the tears dripped down and solidified on the desk. Suddenly, I felt a little sad. Since I forgot to close the window, a light breeze blew in from outside, and the small flames of the wind danced faintly on the candles.

Although the small flames blown by the wind are swaying from side to side, they are still sticking to their mission. By the way, isn't that what a candle is like? It's selfless dedication!

Candles are not afraid of wind and rain, and they dedicate their lives bit by bit for people. I watched the length of the candle gradually get shorter, and then suddenly the circuit was repaired again, and I turned on the light and quietly blew out the candle. I turned on the computer and looked up some information about candles on the Internet, and had a deeper understanding of the raw materials, structure, and quality ...... of candles

The spring silkworm is dead to the end, and the wax torch turns to ash and tears begin to dry. Candles, they are not as advanced as electronics, not as beautiful as flowers, not as playful as toys, not as commonly used as other daily necessities, but their selfless qualities require themselves to be on call at all times, just as they were that night.

Candles, a spiritual wonder in the history of human civilization!

A tall poplar tree by the pool, whispering in the autumn. The leaves fell one by one, and some of them swirled in the air for a long time before they reluctantly landed on the ground. It seems to be very reluctant to leave the mother who raised it, the big poplar tree, and frequently looks back and clings to it.

Some of them fell from the top spikes and teased the branches, and hung on the branches below. It was a genuine embrace, a persistent attachment. The autumn wind is merciless, and the autumn day is silent.

After a shake, it was forced to leave the branches and slowly fall to the water. Along the pond there was already a thick layer of fallen leaves, and suddenly, in the withered yellow, there was a dark green young leaf that was very eye-catching. Why is this leaf so young?

Maybe it's the last leaf of the poplar tree, which has not yet finished its life, and is still dreaming of youth, and does not want to, the merciless autumn wind, taking unhurried steps to guess the bush and selling, with an indifferent face as scheduled, and like other leaves, forced to leave the branches.

Looking up at the treetops, the lights were a little dazzling, and the leaves drooped and hidden in the darkness. Something seemed to be missing, I sighed secretly. Because, the sycamore in memory does not seem to be like this.

I still remember that there was also a sycamore tree standing next to the playground of the elementary school. I always like to stand under the tree in the middle of classes, raise my head, face the crumpled sunlight, and count every leaf of the orange shirt. I can't remember how many I counted, maybe hundreds, maybe thousands, but it was only when I was so young that I could do it.

I remember it was so tall that it couldn't reach the top of the tree, so high that it could reach into the clouds!