Essay on the topic of traces, speed, 500 600 words, 20 can be added

The sun and the moon overlap each other, and the new year and autumn alternate with each other, never ending.

Thinking of the yellow leaves on the trees, I'm afraid of the beauty, and you also have a trace of frost on your head!

The above information is consulted on the essay network.

I can't remember how many pens I've used. I remember that I have used a lot of pens, and people can't forget the traces of the pen.

When I was a teenager, my father always got a pen when he was advanced in his work. It was probably the era of knowledge ** in the eighties. Often, I become the owner of the pen.

Strangely enough, a good pen always dies soon in my hands. The father reluctantly collected the corpse of the pen, with a look of pity and blame. I can't forget that look, it's worse than a beating.

So, I was in awe of the pen. When I grew up, I realized that this was a reverence for my father's attitude towards knowledge. The pen exchanged for the sweat of the father bears the father's ideal of learning knowledge for his children, which is solemn and sacred.

Young and vigorous, bookish, always eager to point out the country and promote words. In my memory, there were many classmates and friends who met with each other and left messages to encourage each other. Inadvertently opened the notes from a few years ago, browsed the traces of the pen, and couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself.

Is this what I wrote back then? It's more graffiti than graffiti.

How free and easy my mentality was on that year, that month, and that day, and how innocent I was. What is written in the pen is heroic. I wonder how my classmates and friends will laugh when they see it many years later? Forgetting the story of the words, we have matured.

Say goodbye to the age of nostalgia, and all kinds of pens can't make your heart move. Even the pen rarely moves. One day, I found a pen and thought it was given by a friend.

I forgot what kind of scene, I vaguely remember her smiling face, academic success and so on. The pen with the ardent expectations of those close to him, appeared in front of him at a certain stage of time, which gave the numb heart a little trembling. The traces of the pen can speak, pouring out the silence of a corner of the heart.

I can never forget the strong and powerful comments of the high school Chinese teacher in the composition book, and the traces of the pen to say the creed of life. In his small village, after the resumption of the college entrance examination, he was the only one to take it. Get rid of the arrangement of fate with a pen and step into the wide world.

Otherwise, he might just be a village accountant or something. He deeply remembered that he and his second uncle carried a cloth on their backs, held an oil paintbrush, crossed mountains and mountains, and traveled through villages and cities to paint oil cloth and wall skirts for people. Seeing the respect of the villagers for the pen is close to piety.

Now he preaches, teaches, and solves doubts with his pen. His body is thin and his heart is not good, but he is still exhausted, and he is as serious as a pen. A pen made me understand that the inner world is more exciting.

A while ago, a favorite writer said that now he uses a computer to create, and for some reason, he feels a little gloomy in his heart. What is knocked down by the imitation keyboard is no longer an echo of the heart. It's a little sad, it's a little sad or something.

It reminds me of my teacher, who worked hard like a pen, and when he picked up the pen and wrote strong criticisms, the swan song that reverberated in his heart gave people a haughty response and cherishment. The change of the carrier will not change anything, and the inner realm is the same transparent and clear, carrying the Tao, words and aspirations, and lyrical meaning!

When I stopped in the bookstore, my eyes were full of pen marks and whispers of my heart. It is the affectionate vein of the soul of the pen, the solemn smile. They all say: let the pen speak, it should create.

Snail. Vestige. I.

Writing about the traces I saw a snail crawling on a certain day, slow and crystal clear, can be used to write about my learning process and China's development process. The essay on the topic of "traces" is the high school entrance examination (college entrance examination) essay, you can go and turn it over and refer to it.

Autumn orchards are delightful, but winter orchards are sad. When I woke up one morning, I found that all the leaves of the fruit trees had fallen, and only one or two were left swirling on the branches. The workers in the orchard were busy with the harvest, and a few people were left to prune the branches.

In the bitter cold wind, the sharp big scissors cut it with one knife, and the branches fell in response, and the juice flowed out of the wound. But the workers say that only then can the pruned trees produce more delicious fruit the next year.

In fact, what is the difference between man and fruit tree? When the harsh winter of life comes, one day you suddenly find that you have nothing left in the harsh wind, and fate will never sympathize with the weak in distress, it will only use sharp big scissors to prune your branches without pity, and make matters worse.

If you can bear all the pain, then those wounds will heal into scars and become traces of pride, bravery, and brilliance by the time of the next year's harvest!

Just like the eagle, the eagle we see is a strong man of life, a hero who flutters his wings and dominates the sky. But eagles only learn to fly in the process of falling, and the young eagles are cruelly thrown out of the nest, and if they can't learn to fly, they will fall to their deaths on the cliffs. If it learns, it will dominate its skies from then on, and that painful experience will become a glorious sign of success in life!

But eagles don't fly into the blue sky with their wings, they have to climb the top of the mountain step by step, and then jump down from the top and take off as they fall.

When we are in the cold winter of life, and the branches are still pruned, we are like eagles dragging their wings slowly on the mountain road, our proud wings are stained with mud, our proud heads are hanging down, and our wounds are bleeding juice and pain. But when we leap down from the top of the mountain, the fierce cold wind penetrates our entire wings, making it bloody, we ride the wind, dominate our sky, the wounds that once shed blood and tears become the traces of glorious testimony at this time, the dust that was once stained on the wings becomes the traces of pride at this time, the pain of the past, all make our wings more favorable, and they all become the traces of courage left on us by the years!

Therefore, when we have nothing in the wind, when we are cruelly pruned by fate, when we are slowly moving forward with our heads down step by step, the pain of the wound is unbearable, and we must not give up. Because it is only through suffering that we will succeed, and those past sufferings will become the traces of brilliance in life!