I prefer cool autumn wind to hot summer. I prefer colorful autumn leaves to monotonous winter snow; I prefer elegant autumn chrysanthemum to charming spring flowers. Everything in autumn is so harmonious, but something seems to be missing. ...
I sat by the window humming a ditty: "Outside the pavilion, beside the ancient road, the grass is blue ..." Looking at the willow tree in front of the window, my eyes filled with tears, and I remembered listening to the story told by my grandfather. When I was a child, when grandpa was sitting under the willow tree to enjoy the cool, I would prepare a small stool, soak his favorite chrysanthemum tea for grandpa and listen to his stories. Grandpa and I agreed to tell me stories every day, but grandpa always cheated, so I stuck to his leg, rubbed him and told me stories. Grandpa can never beat me. Grandpa always knocks on the cigarette holder, tugs at his coat and squints before telling stories. And I pricked up my ears early and put my hands on my cheeks, ready to listen to the story of the Red Army's Long March. Suddenly, I saw the white hair on grandpa's head. Hair is facing the sun, and the roots are extremely dazzling. The sunlight refracted in, floating with dust fragments.
Throughout the year, flowers bloom and fall, and every leaf has its own story, just as everyone has his heart.
I still remember that autumn, willow leaves were falling, flying and spinning, some were bleak, and some whirling leaves were like rain, which wet my eyes. The fallen leaves put on the coat given to her by autumn and returned to the earth, still beautiful. The fallen leaves sang a hymn "sasha vujacic" in a hoarse voice, which was beautiful, but it also revealed hesitation. In her heart, mixed with nostalgia and bitterness, leaves are floating and quietly floating into my heart.
Until now, I can't believe that my grandfather died in that autumn when the leaves were falling. Before my grandfather died, everything was without warning. My grandfather told me stories and worked for a day as usual. Who knows, grandpa left that morning. After knowing the news, my tears flowed down and dripped into my mouth. Tears are bitter and my heart is torn in an instant. Every day without dancing is a disappointment to life. Whether it is fallen leaves or people, my grandfather still tries his best to live in his way. Just like Ye danced the most beautiful dance steps before landing.
Grandpa's ashes are buried under the willow tree. Every year, I will sit by the willow tree and tell my grandfather a story. The leaves listen, the breeze is blowing, and the leaves beat the branches and cheer for the story. Whenever my thoughts have nowhere to put, I will come under the willow tree and touch the rough willow tree, much like Grandpa's calloused hand. When I open the window, if there is no wind blowing through the branches, I take away a slight forced landing, the sound of leaves rubbing, and the kindness in my mind comes back.