-
In our ordinary daily life, when it comes to composition, everyone must be familiar with it, with the help of composition, you can vent the emotions in your heart and regulate your mood. What makes a good essay? The following is an 800-word essay on the taste in memory that I have compiled for you, for reference only, I hope it can help you.
Looking at the clouds and Shu, the flowers bloom and fall, and the memories of the past have long been locked in the bottom of my heart. Gently knocking on the heart, what slipped out of the crack in the door was a transparent and fragrant smell.
I can't forget, I can't forget the gentle smell of my dear grandmother.
When I was very young, my mother put me in my grandmother's house. In my memory, when I first arrived at my grandmother's house, I first saw my grandmother's chrysanthemum-like smile, and then smelled a trace of fragrance. Grandma smiled and squinted:
That's nine mile incense, which blooms all year round! I stood on my tiptoes, tried to reach out, picked one, and smirked at my grandmother.
Gradually, I got used to sleeping with my grandmother, because I loved to smell the slightest hint of floral fragrance on my grandmother's clothes, although there was a small smell of oil smoke, but I didn't care. My grandmother loves me very much, and she is full of love and that faint burst of nine mile incense. The taste, like a battery that never stops charging, fills me with positive energy all the time.
The cicadas outside the window urged me to grow up quickly, and in the blink of an eye, I was in the third grade. But the nine-mile incense tree still bloomed and fell, and then re-suffocated and separated the flowers, and the fragrance on my grandmother's clothes never stopped.
It was a deep night. The night is like a huge burden, covering the stars and the moon, and there is a trace of nameless light Finding the exit of the burden, shining on the nine-mile incense tree in front of the door, the silver-white light seems to smear the vicissitudes of the tree and the traces of the wear and tear of the years, which looks particularly sad, but has a trace of warmth. It was that night that I cried.
Because I was wronged by the teacher during the daytime class, I was full of grievances. I tried hard to fall asleep, but the teacher's words, the various glances of my classmates, and all kinds of ridicule made me feel like I couldn't break free from a swarm of flies around me. I let the tears run wildly, wetting the bulging pillow.
Squeak - "The door was opened, oh, it was Grandma I closed my eyes vigorously, pretending to be asleep, but I couldn't help but squint my eyes into a slit, looking at Grandma who was covered by the light. Grandma sat down in front of the bed and soothed my frowning brow with her thick soft fingers: "Silly boy, tell grandma about something."
Grandma, how do you know ......I opened my tear-stained eyes and spoke in a hoarse voice. ......That night, I remember that my grandmother comforted me for a long time, and then I smelled the beautiful smell wafting from the window, and slept comfortably and soundly...... soundlyOh, and what warms me even more is the faint scent of my grandmother!
Although it is beautiful to watch the light rain falling in the air, it is not difficult to see that there is a little regret. Now, I'm no longer with my grandmother, but the smell really won't be erased, it always nourishes my heart.
In early autumn, the flowers of the bougainvillea tree bloom ...... again
Whether in school or in society, everyone has written essays, which are an important means to cultivate people's observation, association, imagination, thinking and memory. So do you know how to write a good essay? The following is a compilation of his essays that he left in the depths of my memory, and I welcome you to learn from and refer to it, I hope it will be helpful to you. >>>More
Writing about something can be compared to a flower blooming in the depths of memory, preferably touching humanity.
The years passed, and many memories of the past disappeared with the passage of time. There was only one thing that I still remember vividly. >>>More
There is a voice, in the depths of my memory, when I was a child, it was like clothes on my body, always with me, and when I was older, it was like a working parent, only a few days with me, although I didn't like it either. For it does not reach the ears like the sounds of the wind, the rain, or the chirping of birds in nature; Because it is not as affectionate as the sound of reading, singing, and cheering on campus; Because it is not as beautiful as the applause, laughter, and admonition in life, but it is indeed hidden in the disc of my memory, and it is still faintly visible. It is buried in the heart of memory, and the poor can only rely on him (her) to recall. >>>More
When I was a child, I loved to eat fried radish balls because there was less meat at that time, and it took a long time to eat secondary meat. When I was hungry, my mother would make fried radish balls for me to satisfy my hunger. >>>More