The most beautiful posture
Looking at it, the shriveled branches stand stiffly, and a few remaining stamens can be seen. The colors are abrupt, but extremely harmonious. It didn't look good, like a corpse, the old skin was cracked and fragile. But it will not fall, its roots still cling to the earth. Obviously, it has to live, it has to bloom. But it looks so weak, how can it survive? How to bloom? "Pa" I don't know whose tears wet my clothes.
I think of the past, the past of that flower tree.
Spring has just arrived, and the wind is somewhat filled with the breath of winter, and it is stinging and hurting my cheeks. I found it. There were dozens of green buds on the slender branches, which were like emerald and shining with light. The sky in the distance was pale and slightly chilly. I stared at it and felt a warm current flowing in my heart. I noticed that it was noble. The noble life that survives in the garbage heap.
After that, I often went to see it. I never water or fertilize it, because I know that it is not the kind of life that I pity, and I don't need charity. That would be a blasphemy to it.
After a year or two, it has grown taller and is no longer as slender as before. Is it ready to bloom? Yes, it will bloom. Sure enough, in the early summer of that year, it sprouted flowers, and by careful counting, there were more than seventy of them! The flower bones are bright red, so dazzlingly red that I wonder what they will look like when they bloom.
It’s about to bloom. I'm looking forward to it.
One warm evening, I saw its flowers. They are really fiery red flowers, blooming densely, as if there is a fire on the tree, blooming so coquettishly, so beautiful that it is scary, so beautiful that it is unbearable for the eyes, as if it is going to swallow people up. . The sunset is also bright red, probably lit by the fireworks. I opened my eyes wide, looked at the sunset, and then looked at the flowers and trees. Suddenly my vision became blurry, and I felt like I was in the red all over the sky. I was just soaking in it, and suddenly I felt like I was melting away, and my skin felt like burning pain. , oh, that's not just color, that's fire. Yes, it's fire. Is it going to set me on fire? Do I also want to blend into this burning red color? At this moment, I am not a spectator, not a passerby. I think I entered this scenery, I participated in this beauty.
Its flowers bloomed best that year.
Seeing it getting older and older. I concluded that it would never bloom.
But, in that flowering season, it bloomed again. The flowers are not dense, but sparse. Its flowers are different from the usual fiery red, but blood red, with a bloody and trembling beauty. It is a flower made of blood, and it is a passionate life.
How can a miracle happen so easily? The flowers finally fell, falling before my eyes.
It is still a warm dusk. The sun was entangled with the clouds in the western sky. It was a silent battle, and blood spread across the sky, as if it foreshadowed something. A gust of wind caused the flowers to fall, drawing arcs in the air, following different trajectories to the same end point. I picked up a flower and found that it did not look old, it was still the same blood-red color with vitality. Understand, this is its rebellion against fate. It seems to be stable, but I know that it is the biggest rebel against fate. It seems to have no desires, but in fact it has greater desires. It has not obeyed until now, and it has won.
It’s the flower season, it’s the flower festival. The flower season is not over yet, the flower festival is over.
It is a brave struggle, a brilliant bloodshed, a heroic ending, and its most beautiful gesture.
The most beautiful gesture in life
When the soft light of the setting sun reflects the distant mountains into a stretching silhouette, the towering posture is the mountain; when the stream flows in the mountains or the wilderness, winding. It is the shape of water. They are just a form, a figure, and a posture created by the boundless nature. Yes, they are beautiful, but the most beautiful thing is deep in the human heart...
Maybe depression is one kind of attitude, but open-mindedness is another kind of attitude; maybe noisy is a kind of attitude , and leisure is also a posture; perhaps surrender is a posture, and resistance is also a posture. Standing at the height of life and observing the various aspects of life in the world, we will suddenly discover what is the most beautiful posture in life.
People must still remember the banished immortal who "raised a glass to invite the bright moon". He raised his hand and raised his glass, and put half of the brilliant light of the prosperous Tang Dynasty into the glass. But at this moment, do you think of that woman who lived at the turn of the Song Dynasty? She was gentle and weak, but she leaned against the east fence alone and got drunk with wine. I seemed to see her posture at that time, poignant and decisive. The war and the grief of losing her husband hurt her, but she still raised the glass in a standing posture, and still supported her lifelong reputation as a "female poet". I vaguely understood that weakness was just her outer appearance, but her inner strength was a posture of the soul.
Putting wine to the east is a gesture, and inner optimism is a kind of beauty.
People must also remember that at the "Spring Festival Gala", a dance called "Thousand-Hand Guanyin" amazed many people. The lead dancer, Tai Lihua, was a deaf-mute, but she used light and graceful The dance steps, elegant postures, and dignified and beautiful postures perfectly interpret the connotation of art. Faced with the injustice of life, she did not blame others, but integrated art and life with a calm and peaceful heart.
She said: "Thousand-Hand Guanyin has many hands, and she wants to use these hands to help the world." We were shocked by her gratitude to fate and her fraternity for the world. Underneath her calm appearance, we see her bright and shining heart.
Dancing gracefully is a gesture, and the love in the heart is a kind of beauty.
Maybe you can’t imagine how our people worked on the dry land and in the hard days. Whenever I see those figures with dark skin and faces facing the loess, I can't help but think of Mu Dan's "Praise", praising the hardworking people living a life of bloodshed and no tears. But they once again accepted life and sow hope.
Bending down to work is a gesture, and the perseverance in the heart is a kind of beauty.
The beauty is speechless. The most beautiful gestures are only suitable for us to touch and move them one by one with our hearts. The most beautiful gestures are holding wine against the fence, dancing gracefully, and bending down to work, because behind these gestures, the optimism, love, and perseverance deep in the soul are revealed...
The most beautiful gestures< /p>
Yesterday, my daughter called and said she would be home at 4 o'clock this afternoon. Today, my mother put the chickens in the cage early, mixed the pig food, and fed the pigs. There was a faint smile on the mother's face, and it seemed that even the pigs were infected by her emotions, and they were not as naughty as before.
My mother carefully cooked the dinner on the kang and covered it tightly with a quilt. After finishing all this, the mother rubbed her hands and glanced at the old-fashioned hanging clock on the wall. There were still 20 minutes left before her daughter would be back.
The mother leaned against the doorframe, put her gloves into her sleeves, looked at the road in front of the door, expecting her daughter to appear at the end of the road. The room was quiet, even the noisy hens were silent. Only the sound of the pointer "tick, tick, tick" hinted at the passage of time.
"Oh!" The mother suddenly slapped her head, "My daughter must be tired and thirsty after traveling for so long. I have to pour her a glass of water." The mother walked to the kitchen and poured a full glass of water. There was a porcelain vat of hot water, and the mottled white porcelain vat that had been dropped was a little hot in her hands. My mother put the porcelain vat on the table and touched her cheek, and the burning sensation in her palms subsided a little. The mother looked around. There was nothing to do, so she leaned back against the door frame.
"Dang, Dang, Dang, Dang!" The bell rang 4 times, and the mother stood up straight, her eyes always focused on the end of the road. "Tick-tick-tick..." The second hand runs forward tirelessly. The mother looked at the clock and then at the white porcelain vat. The heat was rising, and a smile appeared on the corner of the mother's mouth.
The sky was getting darker. My mother stamped her numb feet and turned to look at the white porcelain vat. It was no longer hot. Mother walked to the table, picked it up and took a sip. It was already cold. Mother carried the white porcelain jar into the kitchen. Vaguely, she seemed to hear the wooden door creaking. Mother rushed out to take a look, but there was no one there. "It's the wind!" Mother mumbled as she walked towards the kitchen.
The white porcelain jar on the table continued to radiate heat. The mother was still leaning on the door frame, staring quietly and steadily at the path outside the door. From time to time, she turned to look at the white porcelain jar on the table. Her daughter I'll be able to drink water at the right temperature when I get back, my mother thought.
The night was shrouded, as if an ink bottle had been knocked over, dark and deep. The mother lit the oil lamp, and the dim light looked like an old man taking a nap. The mother poured hot water again.
Not long after, the moon emerged from the clouds, and the cold moonlight shone on the path in front of the door, and also on the mother's ravaged face, which was leaning against the door frame. "It's time to come back!" Mother murmured to herself. The heat in the porcelain jar on the table stopped again, and she refilled the water.
It was late at night, and the thick cold air spread around my mother, but my mother never noticed it. She just leaned on it and looked at the path outside the door, as if she wanted to see through it.
There are many gestures in the world. The gesture of risking one's life to stand against the dam mouth that is about to burst is the gesture of a hero. The gesture of passionate embrace tells the story of lovers; the hard work of writing vigorously and passionately is the gesture of a student; Leaning against the doorframe, eagerly awaiting the return of her children, is the posture of a mother. It is the most beautiful posture engraved in the hearts of thousands of students.
The most beautiful gesture
The wheel of time has passed through the passing years. Many unforgettable memories have gradually been covered by the dust of time, but there is a picture that is like mottled light. The memory is gathered together completely at this moment, clear and profound - it presents the most beautiful posture.
In my innocent and hazy childhood, when I was out, one of your slender index fingers was always pulled by my small hand. Because my steps were not as fast as yours, I always stumbled and ran behind you. , when I complained about why you walked so fast and looked at your feet, I found that the way and posture you walked turned out to be different from mine, because your toes were always tilted outward. So I became extremely happy, thinking this was the secret to walking fast, and imitated your walking posture seriously. Although the joy was quickly replaced by disappointment, the picture of you walking was initially fixed in my mind, and the way you shook your head and smiled when you noticed that I imitated your walking, "silly boy" you always said.
Later, when you stopped knocking me on the head and calling me a stupid kid, I grew up. The ethereal fantasies of childhood turned into shattered colorful bubbles. Walking side by side with you on the road, in the sea of ??people, you have become accustomed to protecting me behind you and leading me forward.
And one time, when I was walking with my head down, I suddenly discovered that your slightly "outward-shaped" walking style was so inelegant. When you took a step, your feet bent in two arcs on the ground. So I reluctantly reached out and tugged at the corner of your clothes. You turned around and asked doubtfully, "Do you want to buy something? I think you must be hungry after walking around for a long time. Let's..." "Mom, you are walking. Can you please pay attention, do you know how awkward your walking posture is?" I regretted it as soon as I said the words. I saw the corners of your mouth that were raised just now solidified and kept shrinking, and your eyes stared in surprise. Looking at me without blinking, my whole body was frozen and motionless. I saw the frown in your pupils gradually revealing my numbness. Yes, I also realized my abruptness and stood there with you awkwardly. But soon, the corners of your mouth rose again. Mom understands, I will try my best to change it. On the way back, when I was walking behind you with my head lowered and confused, I accidentally noticed your extremely unnatural back when walking. You tried hard to keep your steps in a straight line when walking, but you failed time and time again. , looking extremely clumsy, I said guiltily: "Mom, I'm sorry, the way you walk is a habit of so many years. It's because I'm not very sensible anymore. Please stop forcing yourself. I think you still look better the way you walked." Some!" You turned back suddenly, but smiled gratefully at me.
I cried.
Whenever I think of your back as you walk, even though you have a bit of a splayed figure, mom, in my daughter’s mind, that posture is the most beautiful, so profound, lingering, and will never be forgotten in her life.
The most beautiful posture
As the saying goes, "Life is a mirror. If you smile at it, it will smile at you." I want to say that standing in front of life, the most beautiful posture is to be serious. Treat, the attitude of happy life.
The morning of early autumn was slightly chilly. The girl poked her head out of the warm quilt, hesitated for a moment, complained that the weather was too cold, and then dressed herself. Then she quickly finished washing herself and took over the clothes. Mom warmed the milk, waved goodbye to her mother and walked in the other direction. On the quiet path, only the sound of the girl's shoes kissing the ground could be heard, and the girl walked rhythmically. Occasionally people walked on the road, and occasionally cars passed by, but the girl never paused for a moment because of these, her thoughts had already flown out of the clouds. What was she thinking? Listen carefully, and from time to time a phrase comes out of her mouth: "The gangsters come to trade silk; the thieves come to trade silk, and they come to me..." Occasionally, her steps pause slightly, which seems to be related to her thoughts and memories. The pauses are synchronized, and will restart once I remember her light steps. In this way, the girl no longer felt cold in the early autumn morning, she found a way to keep herself warm; the girl was no longer afraid of walking alone, because this happened to be the best time to test her memory. I think the girl's back must be happy and serious.
Every time she walks to the school gate, the corners of the girl's mouth can't help but turn up. Because she had finished testing herself, a new day had arrived. The classroom for the third year of high school is on the fourth floor, and taking the stairs has become a compulsory course every day. Girls like to take the stairs, and they like to walk as rhythmically and briskly as if they were stepping on the keys of a piano. One step at a time, one step at a time, so the superiority of the socialist democratic political system poured out on the stairs on the fourth floor. After walking up the last staircase, the girl smiled knowingly. She was happy for herself and also expressed her gratitude to the new day. Welcome, now she likes to laugh, smile happily, and smile brightly.
Home and school - a not very far distance is walked seriously by the girl day after day. She always walks very seriously and very happily. She regarded it as the road to her ideal and the beginning of a new life. Accompanied by a unique rhythm, she takes every step carefully; she completes her self-test at a brisk pace: I look forward to her going higher and further day after day!
If one morning, you see the back of a person walking seriously, rhythmically and briskly, that is the most beautiful posture. It is the posture of an ordinary girl who loves life, is optimistic and happy.
The most beautiful posture
The budding flower buds, the willows swaying in the wind, the rippling lake surface... They show people the elegance and beauty of nature in their most beautiful postures, the most beautiful What exactly is the gesture? Everyone has a different answer in their mind.
While resting at home during the summer vacation, the weather is hot and the temperature difference between day and night is large. It is easy to catch cold when the air conditioner is turned on at night, so my mother put a floor fan in the room. Every night, in the cool breeze, I can always fall asleep peacefully.
One night, I suddenly woke up and saw my mother sleeping next to me. Mom turned sideways, legs slightly bent, and placed one hand on my belly button. I looked carefully at my mother's sleeping posture, which looked like a bent shrimp. I smiled. My mother's sleeping posture was really special. When it was almost dawn, I woke up again, and my mother still maintained her original posture, which would make her body tired from sleeping like this. I wanted to wake my mother up and let her change her position to stretch, but I couldn't bear to look at her tired face.
When I got up in the morning, I said to my mother: "Mom, you can't always turn to one side when sleeping." "What's wrong, is it affecting your sleep?" "No, it's not good to always turn to one side." Mom nodded. I turned my head and said, "I was afraid that you would catch a cold, so I covered your belly with my hands. I turned sideways so that the fan would not blow directly on you, so that you would be comfortable when you sleep." After hearing what my mother said, I was a little shocked, and my heart was fierce. The ground shook.
Turn on the TV, the content is all black and white, and the latest progress of the Zhouqu mudslide disaster is scrolling on the TV.
Suddenly, a picture caught my eye. A mother raised her son above her head with both hands, and the mudslide had reached her neck. The news said that this mother held her son in the mudslide for eight hours. How shocking. The flow of rocks almost completely submerged her, but her arms supporting her son were still as strong as ever. The gesture of holding her son with her hands was so beautiful.
I thought of my mother again. Isn’t my mother’s sleeping posture just like this?
At night, I woke up again, and this time I saw my mother’s sleeping posture. I thought it was the most beautiful posture: sideways, feet slightly bent, and one hand on my belly. . Listening to my mother's breathing in my ears and looking at her peaceful sleeping face, I found that my mother was the most beautiful at this moment.
I used to think that since it is the most beautiful posture, it should be as slender and delicate as a flower. Now I find that the most beautiful posture is the sleeping posture of my mother, because it is the posture of love.
The most beautiful gesture
He failed again. As for the first time, no one can remember clearly. When the postman delivered the rejected manuscript to his home again, he didn't knock on the door or call him. He just threw the letter out the door and hurried away. He seemed to hear footsteps and walked quickly to open the door. When he saw the rejected manuscript falling on the ground, he didn't show much surprise. He bent down to pick up the letter and brushed off the dust on it.
He remembered that the postman was very enthusiastic when he first came. A pair of bright eyes and a row of white teeth make the postman look so approachable, but people hate losers after all. He seemed to be comfortable without knowing why. He also hated failure and being rejected again and again, but it was just hate, a fleeting hate.
The moonlight is like water, flowing in this empty city. There are neon lights outside, like weaving pedestrians, and harsh laughter, but he is sitting at the desk, and the lights are not as dazzling as the neon lights. He read the editor's opinions carefully and wrote his experience at the end of a thick notebook - the previous pages were filled with such experiences.
In the early morning, the neon lights outside finally dimmed a little, and he finally wrote down his experience. He was holding a bowl of bitter medicine and drinking it - he was not in good health. The doctor told him not to stay up late, but he had heavy work during the day. If he didn't stay up late, how would he have time to write? Writing cannot be given up under any circumstances - this is his ideal. He likes to keep striving for his ideals. He thought it was the most beautiful.
Why is it beautiful to keep striving for your ideals? He didn't think about it carefully, but he knew that it would be unsightly not to strive for his ideals. He knew that a large part of what he hoped for was actually the sense of fulfillment that comes from striving for his ideals - the joy of giving. As for what others think of him, he actually doesn't care, so what should he care about?
He was drinking steaming medicine. He couldn't drink too much at one time, which further increased the pain of taking the medicine. He tried not to think about the pain and how to maintain the most beautiful posture of struggle. I can't give up. I have to keep working hard and have it every day. improve.
The medicine gradually became less and less, and the bottom of the bowl leaked out. He saw sprinkles on the bottom of the bowl.
The most beautiful gesture
Childhood memories are like paper flying farther and farther in the hands of children? , although it has been marked with layers of dust by the years, it has never been erased. The scene is still vaguely there!
Under the slightly yellowish oil lamp, grandma is sitting on a table and chair. There is a bamboo basket on the table. The basket is full of grandma’s treasures, including needles, money, and cloth... Under the light, grandma is So thin. The years have bent her waist and left a silver-white needle-like silk thread on her head. Grandma held the needle in one hand and picked up the thread in the other. She leaned forward slightly, leaning her hands tightly against the lamp, staring at her. The dry eyes wrapped in rings of growth were staring closely at the tiny slit at the end of the needle, while the other hand was holding the thread and threading it through the hole with a slight trembling... The breeze swayed the wick, and the shadow of the lamp was erratic. Sometimes, grandma kept working hard to thread the needle and leaning in front of the lamp, just to repair the clothes that I had ruined.
After trying several times, she still couldn’t put it on. Grandma rubbed her eyes and let go. Under the light, grandma’s eyes suddenly became gleaming. What was that? Those were not bright eyes, but tears. Grandma is old. After using her eyes for a long time, she will inevitably shed a few tears. Maybe this is inevitable, but maybe it is grandma's worry... I don't know.
Immediately, grandma raised her hands, put them close to her eyes, used the cloth on her body to try to dry her unconscious tears, and let out a slight moan... Grandma was still there, with her trembling hands, The blurred eyes and light made it impossible for her to thread the needle, but she did not give up, like a statue frozen in front of the table...
My heart trembled when I saw grandma's difficult appearance. , rushed forward and said: "Grandma, I'm sorry, let me put the needle through!" Grandma turned over and said with a smile: "Silly boy, is it normal for clothes to be torn, but be careful next time!" You Go to sleep. Grandma can still see the pinhole and will penetrate it.
I walked away with my head hanging down, walked into the room, and lay on the bed but couldn't fall asleep. So, I got out of bed, secretly closed the door and looked at grandma, still unchanged; grandma was leaning forward, threading the needle with slightly trembling hands. The light gave off a faint yellow color, shrouding grandma and fixing her in my memory.
The tears fell unknowingly, fell to the ground, mixed with the soil, and penetrated into my heart, burying this memory deep in my heart!
The most beautiful gesture
It will be one year in one month and five days. Yes, you have been gone for almost a year, and then I suddenly realized that you have been away from our lives for so long, my dearest great-grandmother.
I have not seen you grow old, because when I saw you you were already very old, with silver-white hair, few teeth missing, slightly dark purple lips, and dense The deep footprints of time and those small chaotic eyes always exude a soft light. Now that I think about it, I still have a warm feeling. What lingers is your monthly sincere prayer gesture.
You were born when the Qing Dynasty fell. You love to wear the clothes of that time. The heavy buckles are really complicated, but you never get tired of them. It is said that my great-grandfather likes you to dress like this. Of course, this is all a story for later. You are a devout Buddhist. You have been fasting for sixty years and you have abstained from all meat and vegetables. You don’t even touch eggs or MSG. I can’t imagine how a person can be like this. Strong faith. For sixty years, you have been eating light meals and living a light life. In my memory, you always get up early at dawn. After washing up, I started praying for the day. I held a string of rosary beads in my hand. After you left, I counted exactly 108 rosary beads. Every day, after you finished reciting the scripture once, you would dial one rosary. It would be 108 times in one circle. , what kind of beliefs support you? When you were praying, there was a completely unfamiliar emotion in your eyes. Your eyes fell on the distance and you were mumbling words. You didn't want to be disturbed at this time. I remember one time I accidentally disturbed you, and you glared at me angrily. The softness in my eyes no longer existed, and I suddenly froze, and then I curled my lips angrily and left, complaining to you in a low voice. I think you must have heard it, but you just didn't care about me. Later, I She complained to her parents again, and they told me that she was praying for her great-grandfather. He went to fight in the war and never came back. From the day he left, she started fasting and praying. It has been decades now, and it turns out that it is this belief that supports her living such a monotonous life. After a long time, I understood the hopelessness in her eyes. For a moment, I seemed to see that thin woman with eager eyes. Year after year, her hope was finally crushed under the wheel of time, leaving only His eyes were dry and chaotic. In fact, you are still waiting, waiting for that miracle to appear, or maybe you have become disillusioned, and it doesn’t matter whether you wait or not, you are just used to it. I don’t know what the truth is. You took that beautiful and romantic secret and slept peacefully and tenderly underground.
You in my mind once again bent into that posture of prayer, and for a moment I smelled the smell of love.
The most beautiful gesture
The wind in early autumn always carries a clear and cool feeling; the sky in early autumn shares the blue that can only be found in dreams, and is dotted with pure white clouds. It reminds me of a lovely smile. Is it true that one day I can take a paintbrush, dip it in white clouds, and draw a smiling face in the blue sky? Early autumn always tempts me to linger on the streets and feel the beauty.
Make an appointment with a friend, hold a cup of milk tea, grab the skewers of mutton skewers, eat, drink, talk and laugh without any scruples, stop and go, but ignore the filter and kneel down one after another A man begging in the middle of the road. Not indifferent, not heartless, but after using the word "liar" to describe them over and over again, I finally accepted this point of view.
I continued to talk and laugh with my friends while looking around. There was also a group of girls in front of me, the younger ones were younger, and they were all lively. When passing a beggar, they were still talking and laughing, but just two or three steps later, a girl left the group and ran towards the beggar. After running up to him, she hurriedly took out a few coins from her coat pocket, and then Squat down quickly, reach the mouth of the bowl, spread your hands gently, and pour the coins into the bowl. I was sweating because the beggar said thank you. Her face was slightly red, she nodded, then stood up and ran to the group of girls in front of her.
I followed them a little closer and heard the other girls bluntly saying that she was stupid, but she said "hehe" without refuting.
There was another lame old man on the west side of the street, so I kept looking at her. Sure enough, she ran over again, squatted down, and gently put the coin into the bowl. Then he nodded and left with a smile. Then there was another wave of "silly girl" concerns and lessons from the group of girls.
My eyes can no longer leave her. She didn't know how beautiful the gesture she was giving was.
The person who knows there will be liars but stops giving is smart; the person who knows there are liars but still gives is the most beautiful. That arrogant giving, that slight nod of understanding are engraved in the softest place in my heart.
I asked my friend to accompany me to the east of the street and walk to the beggar. I also followed her example, squatted down, gently brought the money to the bowl, then nodded slightly, and ran away with a smile. Open, I know, this gesture is the most beautiful!
Looking up, the white clouds have been daubed by someone at some point, resembling a cute smiling face.