If you want a few beautiful essays, you need one beautiful essay

Snow in the North Continent Yiye Danfeng 2005

I have appreciated the winter snow in Jinan, like a veil on the head of a young woman, giving people a magical and imaginary feeling. It's just that when it is blown by the breeze and steamed by the early sun, it disappears into nothingness, like the mountains of Jinan. It gives people a sense of softness, slenderness and weakness.

is like Daiyu who walked out of the Red Mansion, singing the funeral flowers and burying herself at the same time.

But it is not as fierce as the snow in the north, so big, and so strange. Suddenly, like a night of spring breeze, thousands of trees and pear blossoms bloom. Snow, snow in the north, you pull up my thoughts all over the sky-

Your overwhelming momentum, only a chivalrous man can match you, since ancient times, Yan Zhao has sighed with many sad songs. When I saw you, I thought of Jing Ke who "the wind is sluggish and the water is cold, and the general will never return": I think of Tan Sitong who "smiled at the sky from the horizontal knife, and went to save the liver and gallbladder two Kunlun".

I thought of "a warm blood, diligent and cherished, sprinkled can still turn the blue waves" to Jianhu Woman Qiu Jin.

Your spirit of succession is worthy of you only as a hero. I think of Li Dazhao, who has an iron shoulder and moral skill, and writes articles with his hands, and his impassioned speech under the gallows; I thought of Jiang Zhuyun, the red flag she embroidered in prison, the white scarf fluttering on her chest when she calmly walked to the execution ground, and the red flag fluttering in the wind in the snowy sky should be the most exciting scene.

Your overwhelming momentum is only worthy of you by great men. A heavy snowfall, a great man, a masterpiece. That is, at the critical moment of where the Chinese nation is going, his discerning eyes have penetrated thousands of dense fogs and seen the dawn of China's victory.

He wrote a deafening poem on the snow of the north. "The mountain dance silver snake, the original Chi wax elephant, wants to be higher than the heavenly princess. Count the *** characters, but also look at the present.

Since then, you have been a mountain, and along with that snow, you will forever remain in people's memories.

Snow, the snow of the north, you give the momentum to the chivalrous, you give the spirit to the heroes, you give the inspiration to the great men. In the same way, you have also given joy to our children on the snow. Seeing the students frolicking in the snow, watching their smiling faces blooming like flowers, and listening to bursts of laughter like silver bells in the air, I also had an urge to rush up and laugh with them.

But I hesitated, and I realized that I had lost the time of a fourteen or fifteen-year-old boy in my past years, and had lost the innocence, the naughtiness, the naughtiness, and the liveliness, so I could only enjoy the scenery in front of me with a pair of greedy eyes.

In this life, you will be amazed by the face of this life, and when you walk towards the sunshine, you will understand. How bleak are the memories you have given but forgotten.

The grass grows without leaving the roots, the grass grows and the grass falls, and the human feelings are indifferent, which is the loneliness and detachment of the floating light journey.

However, with a sad entanglement, the half-curtain was dark and lingering. Looking back, it is always scattered and secretly thrown, and I can't see the pure and warm interpretation. However, a clear sorrow is difficult to open, and the bead curtain is entangled in dreams, and in the vagueness, it is finally in the water.

2) The heart, what a word that makes people hesitate to end affectionately, and the heart of the dream is clear and clear. Dreams are of the mind. The text is still stranded by a memory.

Words are the resonance of the heart.

But what about life? Life sinks outside the illusion, floating in the text.

Walking in the fragments, you have to hide yourself and melt yourself into the hustle and bustle, afraid of the cold bone tide that will definitely hit you in the sea of people.

Stepping on the heart, I can't see a person who can be real, and I am afraid that the whispers in the illusion will make me drift away.

bumped, but couldn't hit the edge, but the mind was an illusion, a kind of ridiculous.

So, it's better to put yourself in this decadent acting skills, laugh back to laughter, care about it, care about it, who is going to see the world and what is the panic?

However, I have always been reluctant to hide away, is it deliberately avoiding what?

I don't know, is it the only soul that is enough to make one's own dead soul flexibly float life for a day?

Even if it is not so new, the laughable and light face coaxes tears and laughs, and the corners of the restless mouth are already like peach blossoms.

"Echo" - Xi Murong.

Standing in front of the rushing water, towards the valley on the other side, I cried out again and again, to hear the gentle and distant voice.

That voice is a thousand times more beautiful than my original calling.

Is it because of this that all the performances in our memories will always be so perfect that we cry?

Don't you know that this is the punishment that life gives us? Or is it a reward?

In the valley of time, what continues to echo again and again is the echo of the countless calls in your and my hearts.

Each time it is weaker and weaker, each time it is more distant, and yet it is more surprising than it is again.

How can time have refined and elegantly retouched the sound that used to be rough and furious?

Can an act like this be called deception?

In the real deep valley, the water of the pool is turquoise, as if it were fake.

In true love, the words that come out are never believable.

The real scene, we can't always accept.

The only way to do that is to put it in history.

Or - written in a poem, painted in a painting.

Del Fu really painted "echoes".

In the moonlight, the woman of Roselle raised her hand, as if she was in pursuit, and the same human body, the same confused posture was repeated three times, each slightly smaller than the other, and each time slightly retreated.

Before the painting, I almost wanted to start calling out loud.

Of course, no one would give me permission to do that.

Even I myself disagree.

So, I could only wait quietly at night, under my lamp.

Wait for the distant voice to gently teleport back to me from the valley of time.