Beautiful prose about rain 1 Tired, I turned to look at the sky outside, the endless sky and the clouds playing with each other. It's beautiful. But when I turned my head, I saw a gloomy day. A big dark cloud covered the earth, and I knew it was going to rain again.
When the rain came, I accumulated a lot of depression in my heart. You can't go out to play, you can't lose your umbrella, and you will get your clothes dirty. In desperation, I moved a chair and sat by the window, watching the rain dripping outside.
Looking at the falling rain beads, I suddenly have an impulse to get wet. I discussed it with my mother, but I still couldn't get her consent. It is raining harder.
"Anyway, scold and scold, and nag and nag. Go!" I shouted and came to the yard. The rain hit my face, clothes and hands. It was a little cold, but I still didn't want to go home.
I'm still spinning, jumping and running. I'd rather have someone to dance with me in the rain, but I know no one at home wants to. I turned my face and saw an umbrella. I hold it, control it and dance with it in the rain.
The umbrella is open, and my heart seems to be open. In such a beautiful world, who will reject it and dislike it? Gradually, the rain became smaller and it smelled of sunshine. That kind of sunshine and light rain is really interesting, but compared with just now, there is less passion and vitality.
I closed my umbrella and came home, drenched and sneezing. I know I have a cold. I changed my clothes, wrapped in a quilt, and my mother brought me ginger soup. At this time, my brother, who can usually fight with me, has even more ridicule objects. Now, in the face of his cynicism, I can't resist, because I really don't have a reasonable explanation to do so. Everything comes from "I like it".
It's so noisy during the day that nobody cares about me at night. In retrospect, I was so happy and so cool. In the rain, there are no parents' nagging, no teachers' dissatisfaction, no classmates' ridicule, only a naked heart, just a kind of spiritual communication with the sound of the rain.
Happy and quiet rain, falling from the sky, dripping between silent ripples, between flowers and trees, above the rivers and lakes, moistens my soul and washes my soul.
Rain, I understand you and fall in love with you.
Rain 2 night became very deep, the sky was gloomy and the clouds were hazy. The moon hid in the sky and went to bed early. On midsummer night, the other side of the mountain was silent, and the sky was like a photocopy of ink, making people unable to see the way back and forth. Fortunately, there are lights everywhere in the city, which makes this dark night look radiant, lively, without a trace of wind and stuffy. Even dancing in the riverside square is sweaty, and there is no river wind blowing on the shore. I have a hunch that there will be a rainstorm in the near future.
The dance music is still playing, strong and arrogant, shaking the whole river bank. The street lamp dimly shines on the people dancing on the dance floor, and the happy people jump in the carnival like painting the title page, breaking the silence of the sultry night. There are many people walking by the river, but they are not moistened by the wind. But came out in a sweat, and many people can see traces of sweat and moisture on their clothes. There are also many people standing by the Hechi watching others dance. Everyone is constantly waving their fans. In fact, everyone is looking forward to a good rain, hoping that a timely rain can blow away the sweltering heat of the earth and relieve people's summer heat.
Suddenly there was a flash of lightning in the night sky, and the wind blew violently in an instant. The wind swept away the dust on the ground, blinded everyone at once, and heavy rain followed. People are running around, going back to their homes, very lively, and the figure of people suddenly feels refreshed. Adults and children cry like ghosts and wolves for a while to find their own children and lovers. I only heard the sound of many motorcycles starting in a panic, and the traffic on a street became more and more crowded. A quarter of an hour later, there was no one in the huge Binjiang Square, only the boss who played dance music in Hechi had no time to tidy up the stereo and flee in the night sky.
The Beautiful Prose of Rain 3 For several days in a row, the rain kept falling in Mao Mao, quietly bringing the season into March. I was born in March, and my preference for March rain has nothing to do with my birthday. I just like rainy days, especially at night, which gives me an intoxicating agility. I worship rain, which catalyzes the cold dust in severe winter.
Rain is the reason for being late on the wine table; Rain is written on the card table, and rain is the beginning of continuation. Now, people don't like rain very much. They hate rain, which brings inconvenience to people's travel and makes busy people feel bored. The rain in March affected people's lives and dampened Dai Yue's enthusiasm. At this time, the umbrella is the closest companion of people who hate rain. It stands on the head, protects the owner's fashionable clothes, competes with the wind and rain from time to time, and shows the attitude of caring for the owner wholeheartedly.
I don't like traveling under an umbrella. Even if the river is blocked by smog for several days in a row, I will cross the river to meet my friends as usual. I didn't feel the rain when I raised my glass last night. When I strolled out of the colorful building, I walked under the buttonwood in the chilly wind and rain, as if listening to the light rain in March. In my memory of youth, the sunshine in March is not hot, but the drizzle in March is continuous. Her elegance makes me daydream and gives me a sense of peace. Now, I can hear the sound of raindrops ticking and pedestrians walking. Umbrella divides the relationship between rain and people. Only rain and fog glare under the flowing headlights, highlighting the urban culture addicted to money. What is missing is that Dai Wangshu is holding an oil-paper umbrella and wandering alone in a long, long and lonely rain lane. Umbrellas are born of rain. Why do I think Dai Wangshu's oil-paper umbrella is different from today's umbrella? It is propped up when people have a long drought and meet the rain, and it is propped up when people look forward to the sunshine. It seems that the magical function of umbrella is to hold up, and put it away and wait to be held up. This may be the contradiction of urbanites today. If you want to experience the rain, you have to take an umbrella. If you want to get some sunshine, you have to take an umbrella. What kind of self-protection is this?
The light rain in March is a song or a song. Can the rain in March only whisper in your mouth? The continuous rain scene and delicate feeling are covered by umbrellas? Or did the rain in March change the season? I don't think so. It's just that people nowadays have lost interest in feeling the rain and become more impetuous and fashionable. Feeling is the rhythm of lengthening time. What is needed is to read the feeling in the rain in March, which seems to blame the umbrella maker. I like rain, like the splash of rain on the windowsill, and enjoy the beauty of rain. More often, I enjoy a quiet and rainy world, and enjoy a pure and clear world in which rain washes away dust. In the rain, I will recall the past and truly taste the emotional world in Qin Guan's Ci of Song People: flying freely is as light as a dream, and endless rain is as fine as sorrow.
On a rainy night in March, when I climbed the bridge by car, the river in Vivi seemed to be bathed in a drizzle. I suddenly felt the beauty and tranquility of a rainy night with water, giving me a sense of emptiness. Presumably, the rainy night in March is not in the city where the lights and green set each other off. She needs rain to blend, and sparse light and shadow can get wet in March. In March, when it was warm and cold, the rain was heavy and drunk. Accompanied by the cold wind, I vaguely saw the color, fragrance and sadness of lilacs in the rain lane, and felt a kind of indifference, sadness and melancholy. This is the most beautiful rainy night in March.
Beautiful prose about rain 4 The rainy season in March and the cold in March always remind me of you.
Think of the warm words that I sent you a message from a nightmare in the middle of the night and you replied in time.
Think of the only time we met, the eyes you hung down in a hurry, and the eyes you looked up seriously.
Think of the countless warm words you have given me, instantly.
There are too many people passing by, but I still know you.
I forget how I met you in class. I only remember that we get along well, but I can't understand your occasional poems.
I still remember the first time I received your phone call. You said your voice was too ugly for others to hear. Then I smiled stupidly, and my nervous heart became beating in your nervous tone.
This is the first time I have heard your voice. At that time, I thought I heard about our future. I don't know, when I can't understand your poems occasionally, when you give me a silent and sweaty expression every time I ask you the meaning of the poems, when I stubbornly misinterpret the meaning of the poems, when I look at myself with your closest confidant who knows you best, I miss your hidden heart again and again, and get farther and farther away from the love that will belong to us again and again.
At that time, we were mostly afraid. Just like the sentence like, it will always be turned into a joke by the other party inadvertently.
When you like me, I treat you as a brother. And when I realized that I liked you, you treated me like a buddy.
These, like the past, suddenly filled my youth, but I had to give up. It's a pity, but I'm still lucky. Although I lost the chance to fall in love with my dearest friend, I am glad that you can still be the most natural you and I can still be the most real me in front of you.
Many years have passed, and you and I are both maturing. Gradually, we all began to like to keep our words in our hearts and bury the reality in our hearts. Therefore, naturally, you and I have less words and less contact. But I only hope that even if we can't stop the pace of time, our friendship will remain the same.
Finally, thank you for your dazzling wings to enrich my youth. Thank you for meeting you.
I think, my last life may be the rain that fell that day, so there will be such a heavy lingering and love in my life. No matter spring, summer, autumn and winter, wherever I am, I will be soaked with sadness in the streets covered with moss.
I like extreme rain, and I often forget the bitterness and sadness brought by drizzle. So all the way down, I lost the Tang poetry and got wet with the Song poetry.
In the misty rain, I put away a line of high-spirited poems, and in loneliness, I relieved my wet mood. I want to ask, in that frequent dream, do I have eternal feelings?
In the depths of the old alley, who came face to face with a tarpaulin umbrella? The fluttering rain weaves a pearl curtain to cover the sky. Some people say that the rain is willing to fall, because it is in the sky, and the umbrellas that are blooming everywhere are regarded as lotus flowers.
In my childhood, my happiness was like a blooming flower, blooming all the way in the alley. That light gray door, I don't know where to go now. But mom and dad's smile and brother and sister's warm care will stay there forever.
A name I will never forget, Yangling Town, will always be engraved in my heart and stand in my memory. How I want to find the tarpaulin umbrella again, because I have sheltered from the wind and rain and walked again, which has changed the shape of Shengli Lane.
But no, now it's a very strange look. This is the silence that time will not stop, and only the sound of falling rain will wake it up every moment.
If I have a chance to hold up a yellow tarpaulin umbrella and walk gently in the rain in the alley, there will be generous raindrops that wet my eyes and slide across my face. And the drizzle that falls on the palm of your hand must still be beautiful.
However, even if I hold on to today's rain, I can't hold on to that pain and sadness. Along the lines of my palm, can I still see my parents in heaven, my big sister like lilac, and when I look back under the umbrella, can I still see my hometown? My home is in the alley?
I will never forget my mother's thin figure and kind face in the alley beside the big tree. After school, when my brother and sister came home from vacation, my mother stood there, holding the arbor in her hand, looking around, looking at the past, the flowers were yellow.
My tall and kind father, standing on a sewing machine, is busy with green under the lamp. Da da da! Da da da! Cut our clothes. My father likes laughing very much. His hearty laughter often infects us. Let's laugh with him. At this moment, I seem to see his smile reappearing on my face.
Beautiful and intelligent sister, with a small broom in her hand, said to me seriously; "Little sister, if you don't study hard, big sister will hit you, believe it or not!" . Actually, I don't believe it, because elder sister has a good temper and never hits me. But I pretended to be very wronged and wanted to cry, which scared my sister to throw away her pimple and hug me and say; "Stop playing! Stop fighting! The younger sister can be good, but you know that you have studied and the older sister is scaring you. " . I smiled through tears and the whole family laughed happily.
In the yard, my mother sat under the tree, quietly holding the soles of her shoes and watching us do our homework. Dad works outside, and we go to school, work and work. Usually my mother is waiting at home alone. She must be lonely. So, she always stands on the roadside in front of the door, waiting for us to go home.
But at that time, we were young and frivolous, and our busy father never thought of this. It was not until one day that my mother left and the building was empty that we suddenly woke up. We regretted it and complained that we didn't spend enough time with my mother to alleviate her loneliness.
Sometimes I think, if time can really go back, how I wish she was an old lady, walking slowly, hoping to stop everything at the best moment.
One sunny afternoon, my brother and sister were doing their homework in the house. I stood in the small courtyard with fresh air and looked up at the colorful clouds on the horizon. My father lay happily on an old cane chair, with a stone table and a purple teapot beside him, while my mother went in and out of the kitchen, and a wisp of smoke curled up on the roof.
The black and white cat at home is taking a nap against the windowsill. And the obedient dog named nothing, squatting in the yard, watching everyone gently. The Trichosanthes in the yard is bloom, and the white and red flowers are very beautiful. A breeze blew and there was a faint fragrance.
The sound of the bellows in the kitchen suddenly stopped, and my mother smiled and brought out the dishes, calling on the whole family to eat together. The tempting smell of food is still floating in the wind.
The past is like smoke, like smoke, which makes people miss fragrance. In the dream, who holds whose little hand and walks through those fleeting years? Who plays whose strings, through the four seasons, forever? Floating in the memory of flashy misty rain, passing through the alleys of past lives, faded the coat of lead China, and came to the door of my hometown with piety in my heart and in my dream.
Spend a long time sighing all your life? Dare to ask, on the world of mortals coming and going, in the cycle of generations, am I the never-ending rain floating in the air? Falling in the dust? My parents, brothers and sisters, the umbrella above my head, shelter me from the wind and rain and give me love and care.
And those sad memories of the past, good memories of the past, will also sleep at the bottom of history with the passage of time? And those misty thoughts in my mind, in the storm, opened my lonely heart and floated into the long dreams of small town people. So, facing the small town in my hometown, I was drunk in my heart.