I will never forget that brief gaze.
Just yesterday afternoon, I met those eyes. My mother and I went to buy fruit together. Halfway through the walk, my mother suddenly stopped and took money from her bag and said: 'Oh, there's a disabled beggar over there. Give him a dollar! 'when I looked forward, I saw a small figure sitting on the pubao. There were many words written in chalk in front of the figure. 'another liar! 'I thought scornfully. At this time, my mother has taken out the money, handed it to me, let me give it to the person, I reluctantly went to the disabled, approached and found that she was an old lady. I put money on this page from "read. 4" hw.com.cn ”Push to her for you, with a nasal sound of 'um', she raised her head, I on her eyes.
What kind of eyes are they? The wrinkles in the corners of the eyes are like being carved out by a knife. Each one tells the vicissitudes of life. Are the eyes deeply engraved because they can't bear the burden of life? Only the eyes contain infinite emotion. Looking at her eyes, it seems that all around has fallen into darkness, only her eyes emit a little light. Just a second's gaze, I read helplessness, sadness, hardship and gratitude from her eyes;
The next moment, she accepted the money with her left hand, and slowly put the money into the bag with her left hand. I noticed that her right hand had been amputated, and only half of her arm was shaking in the air. There were two crutches in front of her, and her feet might be disabled. 'what a poor old man! 'I thought. When I was about to leave with my mother, she kowtowed to us and said some auspicious words in a dialect, such as' happy every day, safe 'and so on. I knew that my mother and I had gone far away, but I didn't hear the voice behind. I didn't know whether she stopped or we couldn't hear. composition
In the supermarket, the more I think about it, the more sad I feel: what happened to the old man! There should be such a pair of eyes! And we just gave her a dollar, and she treated us like a benefactor. But the more I think about it, the more I find a problem: the old man has only one hand. Who wrote so many chalk words in front of her? I'm a liar after all! Think of this, I do not sympathize with her experience.
When my mother and I were ready to go home, it was already night. When we came to the old lady, I saw another scene that shocked me: the old lady was supporting her body with her right arm, with chalk in her left hand, and writing hard and seriously, as if she was finishing a beautiful and luxurious handicraft. When she finished writing a line, she supported the ground with her two arms, pulled back with her pubao, and then pulled her hands with her body, so that the position of a line of words could be vacated, and then she wrote with a different color of chalk. In the process of her writing, I seem to see her body gradually into the night, and the surrounding lights seem to be converging to her eyes, emitting a brighter light than the moon. Once someone gave her money, she would stop her pen and constantly thank the person. When the person went away, she would continue to write. But even when she was writing, she still said something. Although I didn't understand it, I knew that it was the only thing a disabled old man could do for the kind-hearted person who had helped her. All of a sudden, I lowered my head and felt ashamed for that idea, but when I lowered my head, I was even more surprised: composition
That place is like the Song typeface printed by a computer. Is it really written by an old lady in her 50s and 60s? At this time, my mother also found the beautiful words of the old lady, which was also praised repeatedly. She took out a dollar from the bag and asked me to hand it to the old man. I solemnly took the dollar, walked to the old man, squatted down and put it into the old lady's bag. The old man raised his head in surprise, found that it was me again, and then laughed at me and said those blessing words again. I saw her eyes again. From those eyes, I saw the joy of being respected and the warmth of spring sunshine.
I suddenly remember the title of an article I saw: May you enjoy the beauty of the world. From that brief gaze, I can see that the old lady wishes all the good people in the world to enjoy the beauty of the world, and I also wish her:
Enjoy the beauty of the world!
Wei Shengkun stares at the dew and meets the dawn. I sit on the swing and stare at the grass garden. I'm not looking for something, I'm not appreciating something. I just want to let my eyes rest in a small corner in the embrace of nature and let my thoughts rest for a moment in the cluster of flowers and plants. At that moment, I lost myself and everything became nothingness.
Suddenly, a flash of light woke me up, and I came back to this world. I started looking for that flash of light.
Ah, I found it. It's a dewdrop on the tip of a leaf. I crouched down and gazed at it in silence. For a time, in my mind, emerged a lot of articles about dew.
It is quietly inlaid on the tip of the leaf, speechless. Sunlight shining on it, reflecting colorful light, such as a fragile glass bead. It is so pure, like a baby sleeping like alcohol. Maybe it's in a dream right now. I gazed at it quietly and thought. Suddenly, a breeze blows, it seems to wake up from sleep like shaking body, and then, I see it to show me a dimple, a smile like a child, like a meteor fell into the grass. composition
If it had not returned to her mother's arms, I believe that I would have been staring at you silently, staring at you silently
You have helped me. I am very grateful for your kindness, but I can only gaze at you in silence.
Looking at your back, I think of the figure you helped me, my heart a hot, two eyes seem to have something to stay out, can always spin in the eyes.
Looking at your back, I always have no courage to say thank you to you, because I am shy, I am timid, can't say those two words. composition
When there is nothing wrong, I silently stare at you, looking at your face, pure and flawless, just as I gaze at you, you turn to me, our eyes look at each other, my two faces are red, quickly turned around.
Because of my timidity, I can't say thank you until you transfer. At this time, my eyes were filled with tears, I said thank you to you, but you just said a word, it doesn't matter. composition
You go, I can't look at you, but you help me, I will never forget, no matter who, helped me, I will remember. Even very small things.
You left, I can only imagine you out of thin air, imagine your face, but once the confusion of thinking, can't remember your face. At this time, you are in my mind, although it is a vague impression, but I still remember you.
I can't forget your kindness to me. Fortunately, I said thank you before you left. Otherwise, I don't know that we'll never say goodbye.
It's too late to say thank you! Gaze at the stage of life
Einstein once said, "for all people, only love is the best teacher." Interest has left unforgettable memories in our life, either happy or sad, or happy or sad. Interest also let us get more happiness, more peace and harmony
Many people's hobbies are reading famous books at all times and in all over the world, fairy tales beyond imagination, fascinating popular science stories, and biographies of celebrities that have been handed down to the present day. These kinds of books let us appreciate different human accidents in the past, and draw colorful culture and rich knowledge from them.
I like reading books. I like stories in reading books. But reading is not necessarily my interest. My interest is not so great, not so lofty, and it doesn't necessarily make me understand anything. But let me see all kinds of life. composition
I'm used to standing alone at the window, watching the bustling crowd on the road, calming down my anxious heart, watching them pass by in a hurry, guessing the story behind them. Everyone is a book full of stories, and what happened to him is the story in the book.
For a long time, it has become my hobby to gaze at the distance by myself. Looking at them, I can see the scenery in the distance, the vast sky, the floating clouds, the birds across the sky, the swaying trees, the green leaves, the people slowly blowing over de Feng and walking on the road. At this time, I always feel that life is a stage. Each of us is an actor on the stage, a writer on our own stage, and a writer on others' stage
Watching the people on the road walk by, I wonder if they are busy with their lives? Looking at the children running past me happily, bringing a piece of happy laughter, I will think whether there will be sadness on their happy faces, and whether there will be darkness and confusion in their transparent mind? Looking at the people who bow their heads and lose their way, I will think why they are like this.
I try my best to watch people perform on the stage of life with my eyes. Although I know I can't finish watching, although I know I can only watch that short moment, I will also watch it, because I know that even if I can't finish watching, they will continue to perform their life, and they will stop until the curtain call on the stage.
I didn't exactly learn anything from this interest, but because of this interest, I read countless books and stories. Watch different people perform their life on the stage of life, fly, jump and rotate on the stage Gazing at the Three Gorges for dreams across the ship's side, the Green River lingers like a dream, as if still standing on the deck of a cruise ship, arms outstretched, and the river breeze flowing through the broad clothes
The pictures have been developed. Turn over one by one, what you see is full of green - the green of the mountains and the green of the water. Deep and clear, as the memory is not far away.
The most unforgettable thing about the Three Gorges is on the boat.
Tracing the river upstream -- Xiling Gorge, Wuxia gorge and Qutang gorge, the high and low green mountains on both sides of the river unfold in front of us at constant speed, leisurely slide past us, and then slowly retreat away from us. The vicissitudes of the ages have been witnessed by them. The passing years are like the slowly flowing river in front of them, coming from ancient times and running to the future. Now they gaze at us in silence, just as they gaze at thousands of people passing by with solemn eyes. composition
Staring from the fence, we are always accompanied by the flowing water of the Yangtze River - green, brown yellow; clear, turbid; slender, broad... They are always quietly reflecting the shadow of the mountain, the shadow of the boat, our shadow. They walk with us through the Three Gorges, and then at a dock in Chongqing, they watch us leave and rush on The long journey to the sea.
In this way, we follow the ancient people's path through history. The cliff of the gorge vaguely reverberates the original time of Dayu's flood control