The scenery composition in my heart, 300 words, should be beautiful.

Landscape composition in the depths of soul

With the faint smoke rising from the farmhouse roof at sunset, I went back to eight years ago and smelled the mulberry fragrance covered with branches. ...

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In my heart, there is always such a scene: a thin old man standing on a wooden chair about his age, holding his head high and beating mulberry branches with a cane. That's my old grandfather. When I was six years old, I stood under a tree and gestured excitedly. Sometimes there are so many mulberries that Grandpa doesn't wear enough, so he tells me to go back to my hometown, ask for a big bowl and put mulberries in it. Looking at Zisang, my saliva almost flowed into the bowl. I still vaguely remember that grandpa's skirt was always purple and black. Seeing that my second aunt's sister was away, I took the opportunity to munch on mulberries and turned purple. My sister got angry when she came back. I was angry that I didn't leave mulberries for her to eat. Although the old mulberry bears a lot of mulberries, it is eaten by us every time.

Big mulberry trees, mulberry trees and purple mulberries ... have all passed away. With the growth of age and experience, the bag of memory bulges day by day. And every time I debut in the softest place in my heart, I feel that the past is particularly beautiful, particularly long, and particularly far away.

Unconsciously, spring breeze, spring rain and mulberry flowers are blooming.

It's been eight times.

In the courtyard outside the window of my grandfather's old house, there is a faint new green. It's just that the dirty and creaking old wooden chair on grandpa's skirt is missing. And the big mulberry tree in front of the old house ...