Love has many kinds of flavor, mother's love, the taste is the most unique. When I taste it carefully, there will be a variety of flavors from the bottom of my heart.
Mother's love is like milk, sweet. Every morning, when the alarm clock is still sleeping, my mother has already come to my bedside and picked up my sleepy eyes. In the confusion, the clothes have been put on my head. Wake up, I'm dressed. After washing, I was welcomed by a big breakfast. Delicious fried eggs, steaming milk and attractive bacon burgers lined up on the table for my inspection. Gobble up, wind and clouds. The delicious food on the table disappeared in an instant. At this time, I have a satisfied smile on my face and a comfortable feeling in my heart. At that moment, I felt my mother's love was like milk, sweet and incomparable.
Mother's love is as sour as lemon. Every night when I do my homework, my mother always sits at my desk, reading and preparing lessons. However, this "deskmate" is very alert. He will glance at me with his spare light, and then a series of commands such as "head up" and "sit down" will make me confused. What's most worrying is that when the handwriting on my homework is scribbled and full of mistakes, my mother's face suddenly turns from sunny to overcast, and then the clouds are thick. Naturally, she is furious and furious. The accusation like raindrops will spread all over my body in a short time. I have no choice but to listen. After a storm, everything returned to calm, but I had a feeling in my heart. Mother's love is like lemon, rich in sour taste.
Mother's love like pepper, numb. Every day, there will be a mother's "cry" from all corners of the same rhythm, again and again, never tired of, until my ears numb. "Eat fast, eat fast, these must be eaten, balanced nutrition!" Such a shout announced the beginning of the day. When I went to school at noon, a new nagging voice rang out on time: "pack up your things quickly, how can you be so slow? Come on, don't waste time As night fell, there was silence, and her mother's voice was more penetrating: "Why are you still reading? What time is it! Brush your teeth and go to bed... " Mother's love is like prickly ash, full of hemp.
Mother's love, changing the taste of different, passing a strong affection. Peel off the sweet, sour, hemp coat, I feel is mellow aftertaste. I know that this kind of love is warm and happy. What is the taste of love?
The product is not good
Can't taste it
How does love know?
Taste with heart
Taste with heart
What is love on
Mom's hands
Dad's hands
What is love like?
Warm.
Does everyone have love?
of course
…… The taste of love is sour,
It's as sour as hawthorn.
The taste of love is sweet,
It's as sweet as honey.
The taste of love is bitter,
It's like eating Coptis.
The taste of love is spicy,
It's as hot as chili.
Love tastes so much,
I can't find it all! The taste of love a few years ago, a winter vacation, I cough very much, throat cough red, also accompanied by severe pain.
Coming out of the hospital, the piercing cold wind blew on my face like a knife. "Cough - cough!" I have a worse cough. Grandma saw her, quickly took off her coat, put on for me, I feel very warm.
Back home, the time is not early, there are bowls of steaming dishes on the table. I didn't eat much, so I went into the bedroom and wanted to sleep. As soon as the bed was made, my grandmother came in, carefully holding a bowl with some brown liquid in it, which was my medicine. She slowly walked to my desk, gently put the bowl on the table, called me to take medicine, and after I finished drinking the medicine, she took the bowl and left at ease.
Since then, every time I get up in the morning or before I go to bed at night, the bowl of medicine always appears on my desk on time. I won't do anything else until I finish my medicine. When I go back to my bedroom, the bowl will magically disappear.
One morning, I got up very early, a look at the desk, there is no bowl of familiar medicine. I am full of doubts, tiptoe quietly went to grandma's bedroom door, gently opened the door, grandma is not in. At this time, there was a jingle in the kitchen. I crept over again and pushed the door. It turned out that grandma was busy in the kitchen, with my breakfast on the side of the bowl full of medicine. She was trying the temperature of the medicine, scooping it with a small spoon. The white water was floating in the kitchen. Her hair was gray, her emaciated body was moving in the kitchen, her dry hands were full of wrinkles. I can't help but cry out: "Grandma! "
Grandma looked back and saw me and said, "go and wait. It will be ready soon." Then, she took out the medicine and breakfast, put it on the table, and said to me kindly, "eat it, baby!"
I took up the bowl containing the medicine, drank it down, tasted it carefully, and still had a slight sweetness in the bitter. My heart is warm, the room seems to be filled with a sweet breath, is the taste of medicine, but also the taste of love.
Grandma's love is so simple, sincere, as sweet as flowers. The taste of love is a full moon hanging high in the night sky. The bright moonlight spreads on the school road. The noisy school road becomes so quiet under the "comfort" of the moonlight. The evening wind blowing gently, thoughts with the wind back to yesterday.
Every day after school, I have to climb eight floors to get to the dormitory. After a day's class, I've been exhausted. If I want to go back to the dormitory and have a good rest, I have to climb the height of eight floors. It's just a kind of suffering. Just returned to the dormitory, I received a call from my mother, "what, take the soup again, I have finished my meal, and I'm already on the eighth floor, I don't want to go down and get it. You bring it up? Oh, whatever you want Don't know when to start, I have been used to be loved, feel that all my mother's pay is taken for granted, and my affectation is excusable.
Living high also has the advantage, that is to be able to enjoy the campus sunrise and sunset, I like to stand on the balcony in the evening to watch the campus sunset. Feel the aestheticism of "the setting sun is infinitely good", and regret the regret of "just near dusk". In the face of this situation, I can't help humming the songs my mother taught me to sing when I was a child.
Outside the pavilion, beside the ancient road, the grass is green, the wind is blowing, the flute sound is broken, and the setting sun is beyond the mountain.
After taking a bath, chat with the people in the dormitory. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared at the door of the dormitory, sweating and panting. One hand was at the door and the other was holding the soup pot tightly. Only when he saw us did he squeeze out a smile. "Mom, why did you come up here?" I quickly went up and helped my mother in and sat down. My mother didn't sit down, but poured out the soup for me to drink: "come on, while Drink while it's hot. The dormitory is still very high, ha ha... " I clearly felt how hard my mother was when she said this. It's my favorite bone soup. It's as white as milk. It's fragrant and delicious. I tasted it slowly, feeling the warm soup flowing slowly in my throat, just like my mother stroking my hair with her hand. After drinking the soup, my whole body looks very warm, this kind of feeling that I once met, and when my mother held me to sleep when I was a child. My mother's love for me has never changed, but I gradually ignored this love.
I can't understand how hard it is for my mother to send soup to school from home and climb the eighth floor. But from my mother to pour me soup that shaking hands, I know that mother sent is not soup, is a warm love!
I never thought about what my mother selflessly paid for, and I didn't sympathize with my mother's hard work. Only know how to drive a right as a daughter, but not to do a duty as a child.
Whenever I see my mother's head began to appear white hair, fine wrinkles around the corner of the eye, there will be a kind of inexplicable fear. Do not remember when, she is no longer young, do not remember when, she gradually like quiet. The taste of love tonight's night is so beautiful, so beautiful. The wind was singing and the leaves were dancing. But I was sitting on the swing covered with vines, looking up at the stars and quietly opening the treasure box of my childhood
Flower Shadow, leaf shadow blurred, bright moonlight, sprinkle on my body, I seem to return to childhood. In my field of vision appeared a figure, seemingly familiar, but some strange. He gently took my little hand and took me to run, and I did not refuse, because he brought me a warm and cordial feeling that I had not seen for a long time.
He led me to a golden field, which is a perfect world without worries and sorrows. He slowly released my hand, I raised my head, a pair of suspicious eyes were all attracted by him, it is a face of vicissitudes, a pair of deep eyes, hair has already gray, his face looks so haggard, I take a kind of surprise and excitement, mouth can not help but out of a "grandfather". He replied, "why? My granddaughter. " Then he took my little hand to the cauliflower. My grandfather picked a light yellow flower and put it in my hair. He said to me kindly, "little darling, it's really beautiful. It's a granddad's descendant." This is what my grandfather used to say to me. Of course, like before, I accepted my grandfather's praise with a perfect smile. I took my grandfather's corner with my little hand and pestered him, asking him to help me make wreaths and collect wild flowers, just like when I was a child. My grandfather smilingly scratched my nose, touched my head with his head and said, "what a beautiful little girl." Then he bent down as like as two peas and picked up many colorful flowers. He was very attentive in weaving, and his eyes, hands and face were exactly the same as before. Soon a beautiful one
The exquisite wreath was finished. My grandfather cut my hair and put it on for me. In that moment, the warmth of the field brewing all flowed out.
Suddenly, my grandfather turned around and walked gently, walking... I stood there, shouting and shouting, but my grandfather didn't look back or answer me, just strode. I also like flying in the field running, chasing, but the moment my grandfather disappeared in my field of vision. I gave up, a buttock sitting in the field, can only cry, in addition to release the sadness in my heart, I have been unable to do, to think.
The wind "Hoo" to become bigger, I feel so cold, cold, as if the whole world is frozen, come back to God, only to find out that it is just a dream, everything in the field for me is illusory, maybe this strong love can only be in the dream, only in the dream can I taste the taste of love, can I return to my childhood