Essay on Family Affection 600 Words 50

Grandma's canvas shoes.

The breeze blew in front of the bed, and went gently, leaving only the paper wind chimes outside the window, echoing leisurely, like a grandmother's long whisper, although it was not pleasant, but it was also serious.

The fire in front of the stove rose with a thick heat and spread out like twilight. The light of the fire reflected on my arm like a splash of wheat. The water vapor in the furnace pushes up the lid and makes a "fluttering" sound.

I closed my eyes and listened carefully to the soft sound of my grandmother's canvas shoes rubbing against the ground.

Grandma, I can't remember the songs you taught me when I was babbling, and I can't remember the whispers you whispered when I fell asleep. I can only listen to the echo of the paper wind chimes you weave as they sway, the aftermath of the water in your boiler where you boil water.

Pluck the paper wind chimes and smooth out every wrinkle as if touching your calloused hands. Each bell leaves a trail between your fingers, and every fold leaves a crack in your palm. I seem to see you sitting peacefully at the head of the bed, with your hands folded with paper wind chimes and reading glasses behind your loving gaze.

I seemed to hear the needles slowly passing through the bell, rubbing and squeaking, and stringing wind chimes, swaying and singing in the breeze.

In the hazy morning light, my ears seemed to linger, and the strange symphony of pots and pans played in front of the stove. Open your sleepy eyes and listen, it's the sound of you cooking for me after waking up in the morning. So I got up in my clothes, and I saw you in front of the fire, adding wood to the stove, and the stove in front of me was steaming with fluttering water.

Your canvas shoes tremble slightly with your body, and under your thin figure, there is a sound of the soles of your shoes. In the firelight, my tears melted away with the wood in the stove.

Now you are gone from me, but whenever I close my eyes and listen, the paper wind chimes outside the window and the water vapor in the furnace tell me that your canvas shoes are again at the bedside and by the stove.

Remembering a blue umbrella in my vision, I have had to be tied up by a blue umbrella for so long ......The blue is as clear as the air.

On those rainy days when I was a child, my mother always came to pick me up with a blue umbrella, the top of my head was blue, and my shoulders were covered in blue, and there was a blue rainless sky as far as I could see.

On a rainy day at that time, I raised my head and said to my mother, but I noticed that half of my mother's air was a gloomy gray, and the wind alienated the raindrops and fell into my mother's gray air, my mother's shoulders were wet, and the hair on her forehead was also wet, and I was still in a blue rainless air.

Mom, the umbrella is crooked," I reminded, "no, the umbrella is not crooked." Mom replied quietly, and my vision fell on the tilted handle of the umbrella, "It's true, the umbrella is crooked." Mom said firmly, "No, there really isn't a ......."”

When I was older, I no longer asked my mother to pick me up on rainy days, and the blue umbrella faded in the cabinet year after year, and I thought I had forgotten about it.

If it's a coincidence, it's a rainy day, and it's the blue umbrella again, under the umbrella are my mother and me, and I'm almost as tall as my mother holding the umbrella. My vision so unconsciously fell on the handle of the umbrella, and the scene was mixed with the situation of the hour, and my mother was covered in a blue rainless sky. And my shoulders were wet, and my hair was wet.

The umbrella is crooked," my mother reminded me, "no, it's not crooked." "It's true, the umbrella is crooked," Mom said frequently. "Mom, it's really not crooked, no.

There was silence for a long time under the umbrella, but when I looked back, I saw bright droplets of water across my mother's cheeks. The faded umbrella reappeared as blue as it used to be.

The facts are revealed, for so long, my mother has held up a rainless air for me, at this moment, I want to give my mother a happy day, even if Meng Jiao said that whoever says an inch is careless, and he will be rewarded with Sanchunhui. So my vision was tied to the blue umbrella, I was the one who fought under the lamp late every night, and I was the one who crossed the make-up class address every weekend ......All because of the slanted blue umbrella. The blue, clear as the air, made me dare not take my vision away, and I never dared to take it away.