Kneel and beg for the voice of literature narrative

In September, on that late summer and early autumn night, there was such a voice that remained in my heart for a long time. Such a sound that shook the heart, made life tremble, and the aftermath seemed to have not yet dissipated......

Inscription. September, late summer and early autumn, the beginning of another year. The weather that had gradually cooled, the leaves that had gradually turned yellow, and the temperature that had gradually decreased, were so distinct on that summer night.

I walked along the quiet path, the moonlight shining through the crevices of the leaves that were still thick, and I fell in love with the land in a small and light way. A breeze and a dappled shadow of the trees.

The summer was spent in the sound of cicadas, and I almost ignored the noise. However, at this moment, I really feel the song of this cicada. For the first time, I realized that the sound was not so noisy.

Is it because summer is over, their lives are coming to an end? I do not know. But at that moment, I couldn't help but stop, close my eyes, and feel the sound of nature and life with my heart.

The little creatures seemed to get more excited, and their voices grew louder. At first, only a few cicadas were faintly recognizable. Later, more and more partners joined them.

One, two, three ......There are too many, it seems that thousands of cicadas have merged into this ** stream! The voice is getting louder and louder, and it's getting more and more passionate! Among the trees, crickets accompany them; In the breeze, the green leaves dance for them!

These little beings seem to want to vent all the energy they have accumulated all summer without reservation, to play the last hymn that belongs to their lives!

At that moment, my heart was shaken.

In the near distance is a solo concert like a torrent erupting, and in the distance is the caution and tranquility of dragonflies dotting the water. I could feel the full power of nature in this moment. The gestation, germination, growth, withering ...... of lifeIn this way, life is a circle, with no end and no beginning.

At this moment, everything in the world seems to have lost its color, only nature and life are eternal!

Listen, it's the sound of nature! Listen, it's the voice of life!

The night is still as quiet as ever, the summer heat has gradually faded, but the sound of the intersection of life still remains in the bottom of my heart, and the aftermath has not dissipated, for a long, long time, ......

There is such a voice that I will never forget; There is such a voice that shakes the heart; There is such a voice that composes the eternal hymn of life. This is the sound of nature.

Poof, why did your school let me write this, I'm also struggling.

There are so many sounds in this world, some so subtle that you can't tell them, and some so harsh that they make you anxious. There are also some that will make you inexplicably moved.

The baby's first cry is a sign of new life coming into the world, which is very magical. I'm sure we've all experienced it, and although I can't remember, someone will remember it for you.

That person will cry for you, will laugh for you. Most of her voice is made for you. Do you know?

Every morning, the sound of urging you to get out of bed makes you a little impatient.

When you go out every day, the voice that asks you to be careful and safe makes you helpless, please I'm not a child anymore.

Before the exam, I was more nervous than you, and the sound of non-stop thoughts made you feel stressed.

After the test, the voice of cautiously asking you about your test results makes you feel that she sometimes cares more about your grades than you, and her teeth are itching.

When you fall asleep, she covers you, but you can't hear her enter the door.

When she makes mistakes, she yells at you and occasionally loses control of her emotions, but you don't appreciate it and even slams the door.

When you were young, this person's voice almost occupied your whole world, and you would be scared when you heard the voice of a stranger, and she would cry and throw herself into her arms, and she would gently comfort you: "Baby, don't cry." ”

When you grow up, she doesn't have much nagging. Be careful when you go out, pay attention to your body, add clothes when it's cold, how about the exam, are your classmates getting along? ......

I believe that when you say this, you also know that this person is "Mom", and it is Mom who makes these sounds.

Human life is short, time does not treat others, and when we grow up, she also grows old. Don't wait until you lose it to feel precious. I couldn't hear her voice, and I cried sadly, but there was no one to replace her.

Record her voice and listen to it every day. Why is this so, why not try to cherish it when you have it?

When I go home today, I must say to her: Mom, I hope I can always hear your endless nagging. Mom, I love you. “

What about you? Should it be the same?

I used to think that the faint Hu Ji coming from Hu Tian when the snow was flying in August was the most desolate sound, and I used to think that the Qin dialect in the west was the most high-pitched and sad voice, but when I heard the erhu play "Erquan Reflecting the Moon" on a cold evening, I felt that my heart was shaken, and it was an unprecedented bleak shock. Listening to "Erquan Reflecting the Moon", you seem to see the old man in tattered clothes walking alone on the streets of Wuxi, holding the erhu in his hand, pulling and pulling seriously.

But how many people stopped and listened? He walked hard in the wind and rain, sighing, but how many people were willing to listen to him complain? This desolation is more poignant than "the autumn wind sweeps the fallen leaves", and the charm is more infinite than "the end of the song is gone, and the rivers and mountains are green and green".

Daiyu buries flowers, tears wet powder, tears sprinkle spring shirts, but after all, Baoyu will understand. And Hua Yanjun can only tell this erhu about the misery of this life, and turn the desolation into a song "Erquan Reflecting the Moon".

The melodious sound of erhu came from the humid Jiangnan. No, it's not the voice, it's the cry of suffering life.

I used to think that the thousands of chirping of the yellow warbler were the most beautiful sound in nature, and I once thought that "two yellow orioles singing green willows" was the warmest scenery.

But, you know what? In Guatemala, there is a little bird called Losava, and every time, it has to cry for seven days and seven nights before laying an egg. This cry may be far less tactful than that of a warbler, far less pleasant than that of a yellow bird, but it is nature's greatest voice, simply because it comes from a mother.

In the sound, the eggshell becomes hard, and in this sound, the little Rausharva becomes healthy after birth.

A cry of pain came from the ancient South American continent. No, it's not a voice, it's the greatest and most selfless love in the world.

I used to think that the sound of the rain hitting the umbrella was the most lonely sound, and I used to think that the wind blowing through the pine forest was the most magnificent sound. However, have you experienced Li Yishan's "leave the residual lotus to listen to the sound of the rain"? On the zigzag lotus pond, some of the leaves that used to be "infinitely green" have long been torn by the autumn wind, and some are even rolled into a black ball.

However, they still hang high in the air, and those once verdant lotus canopies are now charred black, but they are still held high.

The sound of dripping rain came from the surface of the residual lotus leaves. No, it's not a sound, it's a spirit that has the power to destroy even if it has only one stalk or a dead leaf.

There are many voices in the world, but some of them are imprinted in our minds, and they bring us the power to shock.

No, this is no longer a voice, but a swan song from the deepest part of life!

You can write about your parents' voices or some**.

Tony Morrison's short story "Narrative", through the narration of the white Twyla, tells the cruel facts of racial and gender discrimination suffered by the disabled black Maggie, highlighting the problems of gender, racial rent and culture. Unique narrators, different narrative voices, and delicate descriptive techniques are the characteristics of this **. From the perspective of feminist criticism, the work depicts Robert's growth process as he reconstructs a new image of black women.

Topic Bit by Bit: 1The Ghost of Memories That Refuses to Be Erased – Beginning with Tony Morrison's "Narrative".

From the perspective of memory, this paper attempts to clarify that Tony Morrison's short story "Narrative" depicts the subjective processing of negative memories by the self, the challenge of memory to friendship, and the collusion between friendship and memory. 2.On the unreliable narrative in Tony Morrison's "Narrative".

Tony Morrison's short story "Narrative" narrates the cruel facts of racial and gender discrimination suffered by Maggie, a black man with a disability, through the narration of Twyela, a white man. This paper focuses on the analysis of the unreliability of Twyerah's first-person narration, aiming to reveal the textual function of unreliable narration and its relevance to the theme of communication.

3.From Morrison's "Narrative" to see the growth of black Americans.

In "Narrative", Morrison shows the contradictions, struggles, and growth of contemporary black Americans in dealing with the history and current situation of their own nation. Through the excavation of the protagonist Roberta, this paper reveals the loss-awakening-maturity growth process that contemporary black Americans generally experience in the face of racial problems and the road of self-discovery, and explores the author's ideal of a new race relationship of equality and fraternity.

Think for yourself, it can be someone's voice.