Write a composition about my hometown in summer.
My memory is warm.
The summer dawn in my hometown always wakes up in the morning glow, and the dew and cool wind are all over the village. Yuan Ye, as far as the eye can see, wakes up from the dark and bathes in the sunshine smile. People who eat breakfast in twos and threes gather in the pavilion at the mouth of the town, or play chess and cards, or talk about farming, or talk about what they have seen and heard. My parents are short and peaceful. In the morning light, the sound of children reading is endless, and the barking of chickens and dogs alternates. The exquisite pumpkin shed built by my mother in front of the house is full of lush foliage and fruits. There is a bed under the shed, and there is a seat on the bed. You can lie in it alone, or read books or newspapers, which is meaningless. My father also set up three or four stone piers under the shed with a stone table on one side. I chisel the chessboard on the table, and invite my uncle to play chess from time to time, talk about the past and think about the changes of the past and the present.
My memory is warm.
The afternoon sun scorched every plain. In summer, just after a shower, streams are abundant, lotus flowers are falling, cuckoos are singing, and frogs are bursting. Cicada can't bear loneliness, but also let go of her throat and enthusiastically sang the vigorous passion of this summer. At this time, when the window is opened, the breeze bursts, the wind blows the curtains, and the wild rose is fragrant and intoxicating. The poem "Warm wind gives birth to wheat in sunny days, and grass in the shade wins flowers" coincides with the unique beauty of rural summer at this time. People in summer lie dormant in the hot afternoon, waiting for the summer heat to subside. And the children are anxiously waiting for the arrival of the night, waiting for their own unique happiness. ...
My memory is happy.
The sunset gradually dyed the sky red. Although the residual heat has not completely dissipated, it is already the happiest time for us. Pick two or three watermelons scorched by the scorching sun and throw them into the river. Take off your clothes and go downstream like a duck. The breeze is blowing gently, and the blue waves are rippling. On the riverbed without silt, there are thin bluestones lying flat, stepping on them, burying their mouths in the water, spitting bubbles like fish, hitting the green water and stroking the water. Sunset on the river, with a hint of gold. On both sides of the river are weeping willows planted by our ancestors. They lean out and lie on the water like a dragon, which has become a paradise for children. We quickly climbed up the old tree, jumped down, climbed up, and then jumped down ... cheerful laughter floated from the lotus pond and on both sides of the river. The last sunset in the sky has cleared up. I will pick up the watermelon that is already cold in the water and sit on the bluestone protruding from the river to enjoy this sweet and refreshing "delicious food on earth". I am happy, carefree and happy!
My memory is full of poetry.
The night is as cool as water, and the moon is in the sky. The residual heat of summer has subsided, and the dew of wind and frost has followed, bringing coolness to the world under the moonlight. Summer night is poetic and picturesque, and the bright moon is like Chang 'e's eyes, full of affection; Moonlight floating, such as a little drizzle, is refreshing and soul-stirring. On such a moonlit night, lying on the roof, facing the bright moon, I unconsciously opened my heart, savoring the past and thinking about life. There is the melancholy that "the cycle of change has moved to the past, and the dignity of this mountain still commands the cold river"; There is a surprise of "leaving a silver plaque tonight, I am still afraid that meeting is a dream"; There is helplessness of "I turn my heart to the bright moon, and the bright moon shines on the ditch"; There is also the persistence of "picking flowers is too lazy to look back, half-cultivating a monk and half-cultivating a gentleman" ... perhaps, it is "a teenager does not know the taste of sorrow." In such a cool summer night, in such a bright moonlight, all kinds of ups and downs in the past have become gentle and charming, bright pearls that enrich life, and colorful scenes that can be recalled in life. ...
Summer in my hometown, a season full of passion and poetry forever, is the most yearning moment in my heart and the eternal root in my heart. ...