Warm winter essay narrative essay 700 words, high school essay warm winter as the title of narrative

I'm 23 years old, how to prevent it and a

Composition is the transition from internal speech to external speech, that is, from a compressed and concise language that can be understood by oneself to an external form of language that has been developed and has a standardized grammatical structure and can be understood by others. So how do you write a good essay? The following is a 600-word warm winter essay I have compiled, for reference only, I hope it can help you.

Dad seems to be really old. ”

I stomped through the cold of the winter night, ran home, took out the key and opened the door, only to see my father grinning on the sofa with plasters. A strong smell of Chinese medicine came to my face. I put down my schoolbag in surprise, wrinkled my nose, walked to my dad, took the plaster in his hand, and asked as I pasted it

What's wrong with you, where is it? He breathed a sigh of relief, raised his eyebrows, pointed to his knees and then to his shoulders: "My arm hurts so badly that I can't reach my knee, you can help me stick it."

I quickly tore open the clear plastic sheet from the plaster and looked at the packaging: Pain Relief Balm. I thought, there must be rheumatism, right?

Who knew that he actually said: "Alas, I am rheumatism!" "I was taken aback :

Do you have rheumatism? Dad turned his head, smiled, and said, "What, am I an iron man in your heart, and I won't get sick if I don't eat or drink?"

I nodded in amazement, and stiffly applied the plaster with my hands and feet.

Caught in the quagmire of physics and mathematics, confused by formulas, addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. I couldn't help but sigh and looked up at the house opposite, only to realize that on this cold winter night, it seemed that I was the only one reading hard by the lamp. Mom and Dad should have fallen asleep a long time ago, and subconsciously turned their heads, and sure enough, it was dark.

I sighed, silence and darkness enveloped me, only the lamp was still cold and white. The icy wind burst through the window again, and I pulled my coat together and shivered. Suddenly, a warm yellow shot into my eyes and flowed to every corner of the room.

It was the old man who sold his father, and he turned on the headlights on the roof. A halo of light enveloped me, and I looked back to see him standing tall and stout in front of the door.

My nose was sore, and from such a distance, I could still see the wrinkles on his face, deep and shallow, which were traces left by the passage of time.

Dad whispered, "Is it cold or not, do you want to turn on the heater?" I hurriedly waved my hand and lowered my head to do my homework again.

I was about to tease him, but he said, "But the only good thing is that I have time to take care of my daughter." A sourness and guilt welled up in my heart, and I sniffled and smelled the smell of Chinese medicine.

Dad, you are a fire that keeps me warm in the cold winter. You are the one who lights the lamp, and when I can't tell the course in the dark, you light the lamp of my heart with love.