#1 Hold down the pen in von ylq 03.12.2019 07:15

Hold down the pen in your hand. Rubbing my sore eyes, I lifted my eyes from the book. Outside the window, the rain did not stop. I looked at my shadow on the window and smiled. The large piece of rapeseed is overwhelming, like an endless golden carpet, and like a beautiful wedding dress, it is only worthy of Yaochi's fairy! Blue sky and white clouds, fine weather. Two people were standing between the flowers, an old and a young, bathed in the sun, talking and laughing in the golden ocean. Looking at the tall canola flower, my grandmother's eyebrows became a crescent moon, and I blushed, my child's tenderness flashed in my eyes, and I couldn't stop smiling. The "click" camera rang, time was frozen, and happiness remained in my heart. However, I didn't know it at the time. For the harvest of that season, my grandma has worked hard every day and night Cheap Cigarettes. The birth of each flower requires grandma to take a step to sow a seed; to take a step to sow a seed ... Every flower requires the grandma to carefully apply a sufficient amount of new seedlings in the field Fertilizer ... Every flower grows, every drop of oil is squeezed out, all contain the grandmother's sweat, and they all place her grandmother's earnest hope! And this landscape, like the iron seal, was branded to my heart. I haven't missed my hometown for the first time since I moved to the city at the age of 6. However, I never thought of it like this. The touch of golden color on the photo made me feel a few heartaches like never before Newport Cigarettes. Is it the scenery in my heart? Like a fine creeper, lingering beside me and returning to my hometown again, I can't believe this is where I used to be. Multi-storey houses stand up and cars lay across the concrete road. Fortunately, the field is still alive, but the life of weeds and desolation has taken away its past beauty. Grandma was still by my side, but her wrinkles were deeper. When the wind blew, her tears flowed Marlboro Gold. Nostalgia in Yu Guangzhong is the tombstone, the strait. And my homesickness is the rapeseed field, which covers the landscape in my heart; I am here, my hometown, and I take out a handkerchief, and wipe my grandma's face. A loose hand, the white handkerchief was blown up by the wind, and brought to the field, rolled, dancing, and stumbled. "Can rape be planted here?" I asked loudly, as if the hills in the distance were to be heard, but it was silent, and grandma was silent. I said to myself, "Perhaps, next year will be another landscape.

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