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Enlightenment from Life: Five 600-word Compositions
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The temperature composition at home is 600 words high, 1.
Pour boiling water into the cup, and the hands holding the porcelain cup instantly feel the spread of warmth bit by bit. After a while, there was a cloud of smoke around the cup, which rose slowly until it disappeared. The tea leaves spread out in the cup, and the water gradually turned amber and crystal clear. Take a deep breath, it seems that you can smell the temperature of tea in the distance, which is very warm.
Memories go back to the winter night of a certain year-that year's winter was very cold, the street lights were dark and pedestrians were sparse. My grandfather, who was over 70 years old, was seriously ill and got better after treatment in other places. Mother is not at ease and wants to take him back to live in person. But grandpa was stubborn, knowing that his mother was busy at work, and insisted on coming back by train. My mother couldn't persuade my grandfather, so I just listened to him and took the initiative to escort my grandfather home safely.
It is getting late. Guess the time. Grandpa should be at the station soon. The temperature dropped rapidly at night, so I put on my thick coat and went out. A gust of evil wind got into my clothes and seemed to want to get into my bone marrow ... I shrank my neck and quickened my pace. After walking for about ten minutes, I came to the railway station and sat on a bench in the waiting area, letting the wind blow my cheeks.
The train pulled into the station. In the bustling crowd, I saw a huge figure, and my face was still blurred. The plain blue coat softened in the light, and the long straight pants were folded at the ankles. Below is a pair of worn-out old cloth shoes. He approached me, his sleeves swinging like two butterflies. Gradually, the silver hair is clear, the wrinkles are clear and the kind smile is clear. "Grandpa!" I rushed forward, and grandpa smiled even sweeter, whispering my name in his mouth. Grandpa's arms have a different temperature. Grandpa reached into his coat pocket and took out a bottle of milk like a child doing magic. It was warm when I answered it, and this warmth flowed into my heart like cotton candy. Grandpa took my hand, so warm. His hands are like a warm bed in winter, covering my sleeping eyes.
Grandpa smiled and squeezed my hand, and we walked slowly back.
On the way, there are snowflakes in the sky. I looked up and a snowflake fell on my lips. It's too cold. Grandpa's simple blue coat was put on me at some time ... this is a special temperature called kindness and care.
Tea, when you drink it, a few green tea leaves are more colorful under the moisture of boiling water. Without tea, the fragrance of tea is still there, and the hot temperature in my throat is still flowing.
The temperature composition at home is 600 words high and 2 words high.
Everyone has his own home, and everyone's home is different. Everyone loves his home. Home is a harbor of love, a lighthouse on the sea, a heater on winter nights, a cup of fragrant Longjing when he is tired, and a greeting when he is sick ... My home is warm and warm.
I remember once my birthday was coming, and my family was happily preparing it for me. I am so happy that I even hum a song "Good luck" when I walk!
But one day when I got home, my mother said to me, "Xiao Qi, your father's leader suddenly sent him out on a business trip, and I heard it was a very important task. Because the leader trusted your father to let him go, your father might not be able to accompany you on your birthday." "I couldn't believe it when I heard it. I asked my mother, "Mom, is this true? "Mom sighed and nodded heavily." Huh? "This incident has given me a blow, and I am very sad. I thought, why is dad so busy that he has no time to spend my birthday with me? If only he could spare time to spend my birthday with me! The more I think about it, the more sad I am, and tears are running across my cheeks.
How time flies! It's my birthday in a flash!
I went home very late because I had an extracurricular class that day.
When I turned on the light, I was shocked: the ceiling of my house was covered with colorful flags, and there was a card in the middle, which read: Happy birthday to my dearest little girl! The ground is full of balloons, and there is a present on the table. My mother told me that this was specially arranged by my father from the airport. After the arrangement, he hurried back to the construction site. I was moved to tears. But this time, the tears are different from last time. They are moved tears, happy tears, happy tears.
This is my home, my backing, my street lamp!
My home is very warm.
The temperature composition at home is 600 words high.
As the sun sets, the sun shines lazily on the broken wall. There are some wild flowers in the cracks of the wall. Several children with clear eyes are looking at me, and the flower cat in the corner yawns coldly.
I am still young. I will spend an afternoon leaning against the old broken wall, watching the cat with its tail upright, touching my ankle with its body, watching the sunshine like peanut oil, brushing the wall around me, and watching the sun move westward overhead one by one.
My parents ran around the city and came back on a golden afternoon. As usual, before they planned to take me away, they described another home in the city to me. They described to me the huge artificial lake near their home and the brilliance of night lights. There are many snacks there. I don't have to eat the cake in the village anymore. There is a small bed at home that belongs to me. I can't sleep with grandma's arm anymore. This city is really good.
I followed them to that city.
I saw a huge artificial lake, ate a lot of snacks and stayed in my crib for many, many nights.
I recall the light without temperature near the artificial lake and touch the clean and cold water. There are no children playing in the lake, no grass carp swimming, no temperature, no longer a warm haystack under my feet, but a hard concrete floor, and snacks are delicious, but I still crave the oil cakes in the country streets and miss the simple uncle who fried oil cakes. I tossed and turned in bed. In summer, the air conditioner is blowing loudly, but I think of grandma's soft arms under her head, and the huge cattail leaf fan is blowing a slightly hot wind in her ear.
I shouted home, home with temperature. I can't wait to go home.
Now that I am grown up, I step on the still muddy road in the country.
As the sun sets, the sun shines lazily on the broken wall. There are some wild flowers in the cracks of the wall. Several children with clear eyes look at me, and the cat in the corner yawns coldly. The warm sunshine on the wall, touched by hand, used to be temperature.
The temperature composition at home is 600 words high.
With the sunset, with the end of the ceremony, with the last tear, her body, in the wooden box under the soil, completely lost its temperature ... but the temperature she gave us filled our hearts and lasted for a long time.
When I was in primary school, she often came to my school gate early and waited for me anxiously. As soon as the school gate opened, a large wave of students poured out, and she was even more anxious, for fear that I would forget that she was still waiting alone in the crowd. I saw her standing on tiptoe, looking around, "Baidu" her baby grandson-me in the crowd. As soon as I found the target, I rushed into the crowd and took my hand. Sometimes my hand hurts. I even yelled at her. She never retorted, just smiled and said, I'm afraid you'll get lost ... dragged me to the store and asked me what I wanted to eat. With her vicissitudes, I took out a roll of money wrapped in a rubber band from her patched pocket to pay for the delicious food I wanted. While helping me carry my schoolbag, I nagged about my trivia today, while … spoiling me and smiling at me with spoiled eyes …
On weekends, she will meet my requirements, accompany me to the amusement park and go crazy with me. Many boring jokes pop up from time to time in her mouth. I will keep silent when she is amused by her jokes. Slowly, she seems to know that I don't like his jokes, so she will be silent, bow her head a little wronged, and then follow me silently. Now, if she can tell me again, I promise to listen carefully to her gentle voice like an angel, and I will play with her and be crazy together.
She is the most capable and diligent in the family. She keeps cleaning at home every day, as if there are endless things to do every day, but she always finds time to drive me to school at that point every day. Although her hands are very vicissitudes, they are very thick and thin. She cooks delicious meals for us every day and eats yesterday's leftovers. Her parents advised her not to do this, but she just smiled: nothing, nothing.
Until today, I haven't felt the temperature she gave me. Now that I think about it, I really want to say sorry to her for what I did at that time. What are you daydreaming about? ...
She, an old man, my dearest grandmother, finally lost the temperature in the wooden box under the soil ... but the temperature she gave me and this family will stay in my heart and this family forever.
The temperature composition at home is 600 words high.
Home is a warm harbor, giving me a support when I am lonely and helpless. Home is the nagging of parents and the love of ancestors. Home is nothing more than rice, oil, salt, sauce and vinegar tea, but it is the warmest place.
The warmth of home is a cup of boiled water that Dad puts on the bedside table every morning. Wake up every day, there will be a glass of white water around you. I don't know when it was put, but it's always lukewarm, and the temperature is just right. I often close my eyes and pretend to be asleep in the morning, secretly listening to the sound of my father entering the door, imagining that my father is holding the cup handle with strong hands and quietly putting down the cup. The warmth of home arises spontaneously in my heart.
The warmth of home is my mother's nagging day after day. "Get up!" "Go to exercise!" My mother's nagging rings in my ears every day, only a few words. I used to hate such nagging, even annoying. But as I get older, I am obedient to my mother's nagging. If one day, my mother suddenly stops nagging at all, I will even miss it a little. Is this the warmth of home?
The warmth of home is delicious made by grandma. Whenever I come home from school, I can always smell a delicious smell in the kitchen. My sister and I, two "little greedy cats", have long been drooling. Cooking seems to be one of my grandmother's interests. Every day, grandma and I will finalize the menu with great interest. Whenever I see that I eat very well, grandma always smiles on her face. The warmth of home is the taste of happiness cooked by grandma.
The warmth of home is that we are all together, my father is reading, my mother is watching my mobile phone, I am watching TV, and my grandmother is choosing dishes. Warmth is displayed in this obscurity, and a peaceful, happy and peaceful atmosphere pervades this home.
Home is just a cup of water for my father, a word from my mother, and delicious food for my grandmother ... However, it is such an ordinary and plain home that brings me warmth.
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