Huangshan

The morning wind is breezing and the trees are dripping with dew. Ah, it's another foggy day. The fog of my hometown is not as thick and beautiful as the fog of Mount Emei, nor is it as beautiful and unpredictable as the fog of Mount Huangshan, but what I appreciate most is the fog of my hometown.

My hometown is located in the mountains in the foothills of Kuaiji, where the peaks of mountains, thousands of rocks competing show, thousands of valleys competing flow, where the fog has its unique charm.

Hometown of the fog is beautiful, white is simple. As white as snow? No. It is a little gray in white, white in green, more beautiful than snow. Yes, the thick fog sleeping in the green mountains between the Xiushishui, drawing the reiki of the trees in the mountains, do not dress up more beautiful? Such a white fog only with the countryside has, any Tanqing master, it is difficult to tune out the hometown of the fog is natural, white and sincere, I really want to grab a in the hand, or even embrace it in the heart, dye it on the painting paper, and appreciate it from time to time.

The fog in my hometown is deep and pure, and it does not contain the smell of oil smoke like the fog in the city. It's lovely, although when you walk a few steps apart, you can only hear the sound, but not see people, breathe in a bit of fog, cool and cool. We carry schoolbags to school, fog floating on my forehead, and I kiss, I can not avoid, this passionate woman ah, you are rendering your enthusiasm and hospitality? Look around, a vast fog. Maybe some people will feel stuffy, can not see the rolling peaks, can not see the lush bamboo, but I don't care.

The fog changed, for a while turned into a cool breeze, and for a while became a small dew, touching my hair ends, touching my eyelashes. I gently close my eyes, the cool feeling makes people relaxed and happy, after the baptism of fog water, it seems that my eyes contain "tears".

The soft fog in my hometown is really beautiful. It's tough as white clouds, and it keeps pulling. It gently applied to the grass, grass also really love fog sister, enjoy sucking sweet juice.

The sun gradually rose and the fog gradually lightened. A red round sun hung high in the air, the mountains, peaks, trees gradually exposed the outline, the mountains and rivers washed by the fog, full of vitality. The dying dead wood also seems to moisten, with free and easy life.

Hometown fog kind, warm, I love the fog of my hometown, it really makes people miss.

Unconsciously, I looked up and found the sound of rain outside the window. The rain was heavy and straight. The wind rushed into my study and beat the white paper. Rain is soft, and when the wind blows it straight, it becomes hard. The rain was naughty, too. It kept hitting my books. Standing up, ready to close the window, saw a scene.

The window pot was a little green, not harsh, and the branches and leaves were yellow. As soon as the wind blew, it fell, and the rain fell on it like a big stone, weighing him down. It refused to obey, braved the wind and rain, and finally stood upright. But God is torturing it. When it stood up, the wind and rain hit it again, causing it to fall down again. Is it instinct, belief or persistence? It was knocked down again and again, and climbed up again and again. The word "unyielding" is written vividly. Watching these scenes, I felt a thrill in my heart.

When I first bought it, I sowed it wistfully and carefully, watering it every day in anticipation of the day it would bloom. But a month later, it still hasn't grown up, and my sight is gone with the wind. Slowly, I stopped watering it, the soil in the pot became harder and harder, and it gradually disappeared from my memory.

The beating of the rain brought me back to reality. Looking at it, it was still struggling in the wind and rain, my nose became sour and tears filled my eyes. It was an intense act over and over again, like a huge hammer hitting my heart. A young sapling will not give up a glimmer of hope for survival in a desperate situation, nor will it fall before the test of life and death. Is that true of saplings? What do we do? There may be a bumpy road ahead in our lives, there may seem to be no hope, there may be mud everywhere, but what are these? In the face of life and death, the saplings have no fear, and so do we, crossing seemingly insurmountable ridges, climbing seemingly insurmountable mountains, crossing seemingly insurmountable rivers, hope is ahead.

The sapling is so fragile that it won't bend in the wind and rain. We are stronger than the saplings. We don't understand geometry, and we can move forward without fear in the face of difficulties.

Looking at the sapling again, it was pressed to the ground, but I was not worried because I knew it would certainly get up.