Growth is a very difficult process. Only by experiencing setbacks and constantly honing yourself can the beautiful Mansha Zhu Hua bloom on the thorny road. ...

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I still remember that it was the first monthly exam last semester in Grade Three. Somehow, I have been boasting that my English is very good, and I only got 125. I couldn't believe my ears at the moment I heard the soundtrack, until the roll paper covered with a red cross came down, and my heart seemed to be covered with ice and tears, and finally, it overflowed my eyes.

I don't know why the teacher, who always loves to follow the class, left school so early today and didn't follow the class this time. My legs seem to be filled with lead, so heavy that I have no strength to take a step. The wind roared at me, and the flying leaves flew under my feet. Looking at the sky, it was gray, and I couldn't help laughing: "Is it going to rain?"

I don't know how I got home. I looked at my mother's anxious eyes as soon as I opened the door. "Come into the house, why are you staring?" I nodded stupidly, not knowing what to say. Putting down my schoolbag, I bit my lip and made up my mind to say to my mother, "Mom, I didn't do well in the exam. This time, I didn't do well in the English exam. I only got 125. " Say that finish, I hurriedly bowed his head, waiting for the arrival of the storm. For a long time, my mother didn't speak. I thought she was angry and looked up at her. Who knows, there is no blame or anger, only mother's gentle face. "It doesn't matter, just work hard next time!" I was a little surprised and asked, "No ... You don't blame me, do you?" "It doesn't matter, son, it is good that you have worked hard. Besides, you are already blaming yourself, aren't you? " Mother's words, like a giant axe, split the thorns on the road for me. "Mom, thank you!" "Well, come on!"

Back to my room, my heart was sweet. I looked out of the window, listened carefully to the overlapping sound of rain and looked at the traces of rain. "Everything will be fine as long as you work hard, won't it?" I whispered to myself.

There will inevitably be setbacks on the road of growth, but I believe that maybe setbacks will let us know more and grow faster. Thank it. Please believe that as long as there is love, perhaps setbacks are also beautiful.

Growth, but also need to miss.

At sunset, the ground covered with blue and white porcelain reflects a deep dark blue beside the grape trellis. A few slender rattan leaves covering the top of the head are covered with dew, filled with green romance, and the gray branches on the side of the frame are twisted and coiled.

Dewdrops scatter colorful light in the sun. In the convex mirror, it's you and me. In the glittering and translucent water drops, I can vaguely see back-to-back fuzzy beautiful images. Your flowing long hair is caressed by the wind, leaving a faint fragrance.

White fog and black lead are intertwined, which is a cloud. The sun shines through the thin cotton wool on your and my clenched hands. I remember you brought a wave drum that night. When your hand swings, two drum sticks dance with it, making a "ding dong dong" drum sound. You seem to be playing a moonlit song, making insects and birds sound like your voice. My eyes move with you, faster and faster.

"Slow down! I can't keep up. " The happy laughter of the two girls overflowed on the edge of the lonely grape trellis. You picked up the drum again, accompanied by the cold moonlight, and divided her into attractive cakes with the drum, emitting a thick milk fragrance. Suddenly, you conjure up a cupcake from behind and put it in front of me. "Happy birthday to you!"

There is a bright red flame on the white candle. In the flickering firelight, I saw you put on a crown-like birthday hat for me. I turn my back on her, holding the tears in my eyes and let them wrap my eyes. There is a light drum sound in my ear, accompanied by the birthday song you sang for me with a hoarse throat.

The night sky is covered with a purple curtain, like a blurred black gem, with a touch of bright blue, reflecting a red flame. I feel your warm body temperature with my cold hands, and I hope everything will stop only at this moment. Suddenly, a lot of childish questions pop up, and a thousand words are stuck in my mouth, just staring at your empty eyes. Perhaps, at this moment, your heart is more lonely than mine.

I like to roll up the silk curtain at night and watch the watery moonlight slide down from the window. The street lamps in that street are flickering.

Walking alone by the vine, there is only something missing. Maybe now I am used to breathing without your fog, but I have locked my deep memory in my heart. ...

Growth also needs to reject the cold.

In the winter in the northland, thousands of miles are frozen, and the snow in Wan Li drifts. The bus is still missing, just waiting for bright sunshine or long-lost warmth.

"Cheep-cheep-"The bus stopped slowly in front of the station, half asleep, vaguely mixed with the sound of swiping and stamping, and I stepped on the bus.

"ouch!" The shrill scream woke me up from my dream. It turned out to be an old man, because the snow on the car almost slipped. At this time, many pairs of warm hands appeared around her, and there were many concerned eyes around her. Many grateful flowers bloomed on her face, and a beam of sunshine was printed on every passenger's face through the window. Because of the movie, the ice and snow seem to have melted.

Rejecting the cold, I grew up because of this caring light.

Although the campus in early winter is covered with snow, it is warm and moving. On the playground, while exchanging the principle of leverage, the students shoveled snow with shovels and sang the heroic poem "I am exhausted, but I regret the long winter". We remove not only the snow, but also the dust in our hearts.

At noon, the teacher warmed up carefully, and the bowls of hot mala Tang took good care of them, and a little water vapor turned into sweet and greasy air, as if the snow had melted because of this touching scene.

Refuse the cold, because of this friendly light, I grew up.

On the way to school, the street lamp dragged the figure for a long time. In the dim light, two couples in rags snuggled together, and the woman cringed because of the cold. The old man took off his patched cotton-padded coat and put it on her gently. His face is full of tenderness. Yes, truth needs no words. Only by tasting it will it be sweet. The street lamp is still on, as if waiting for the love of "holding your hand and growing old with your son", and the snow melts because of this true feeling.

Refuse the cold, because of this sincere heart, I grew up.

The rustling flowers fall all over the shoulders, the flute sounds cold, the window shadows remain, and the smoke waves sound. Where is the south of the Yangtze River? Maybe I am disappointed because of the separation of my intimate friends and confused about the road to growth, but with this concern, friendliness and sincerity, I can refuse the cold, how can the sunshine not fill my heart, and wish me thrive.

Growth also needs poetry and painting.

When I am alone, the words belonging to the past on the brown bookcase, the ethereal melody floating in the room, the sketches and photos hanging on the wall often accompany me quietly.

Those are deep and lonely souls.

When I mention my own growth, there will always be ripples in my heart. I am full of gratitude and sympathy for everything I have and feel.

When I was young, I was infatuated with Wilde's fairy tales. Looking back now, I think his fairy tale is a warm poppy, which is a fatal blow to the mind of reading. In Giant and Children, he said, "I have many beautiful flowers, but children are the most beautiful flowers." This makes me curious and amazed that he can keep such a beautiful mind in the dirty secular world. Artists who truly reach a realm will naturally return to the original nature and innocence.

Then the piano. Of all the pianists, I like Chopin best. Without Liszt's pure splendor, there is an irresistible melancholy, like darkness and loneliness at night. Like many rows of broken raindrops, confusion falls in my heart. I walked towards the bud and sweetness of youth in the piano poet's staff. I don't know why, I like to put Chopin's piano music and Monet's paintings together. Monet's color is mottled from the bone marrow, but it seems that there is a thick layer of clouds outside, which makes people confused. I long for Monet's eyes.

The words that dominated my youth came from many writers. Annie baby can be said to be my idol. The agitation of Farewell to Vian, Leng Yan in La Traviata, Self-Salvation of Lotus and Carefree Life in the Golden Age of Su Nian are all songs about wine. I think, if one day in the future, I can have her to observe the world like this and think deeply about the inner essence of human nature, that would be great.

In a word, I grew up with the names Duras, Van Gogh, Zhang Ailing, Renoir, Verdi, Byron and Yan Ge.

So-called, poetic. At that time, I remembered a song by Teresa Teng, "See Smoke from Cooking Kitchen", which contained such a lyric:

The sunset is poetic and the dusk is picturesque. Although poetic, I only have you in my heart.