Musik News » weet and sour, and it is

c sky is like a spotless glass, white clouds, white snow, like milk. The weather is warm Marlboro Cigarettes, the sun shines through the clouds; the flocks of sparrows leaping on the trees; the swarms of migratory birds have already flown to the south Carton Of Cigarettes. At the end of September, I came to the grandfather's house in the country. The lodge built with adobe was once my childhood paradise. Every time the harvest season, the aroma of golden fruit is refreshing. This year is still so colorful, all of them are the hard work of grandparents! The road they have traveled is something that our generation can't imagine. Today, I have to experience the life here. The first task is to pick apples. We went under the apple tree and there were so many apples on the tree. Listening to Grandpa, the apple is drought-tolerant, high in yield, thin in fruit skin, rich in water content, suitable for sweet and sour, and it is fragrant and fragrant at home. It can be put into the market in the second year and sold to the market. It. The apple trees grow so lush, and there are so many branches. When people pick them up, they have to bow down. Hey, how cute is the red apple! One by one, hanging over the branches, hidden in the leaves, like a naughty cute doll. The green and beautiful leaves set against the charming red apple, like a warm big hand holding the child in his arms. I took the small bucket and picked the fruit. It didn't take long for me to start to have no patience - it was backache and leg pain, and I had to "quit the middle of the road." Sitting on the mound, looking at the grandfather who was a lot higher than me, bowed his waist and looked up at his head. The sweat on his forehead was hanging, and my heart was so sad. Grandpa, your strength will be the wealth that will encourage me all my life! Then we ushered in the second task - picking peaches Cigarettes Online. The peach trees are shorter than the apple trees, but when they walked in, the little peaches were more attractive than the apples. They have a red mouth and a hair, so cute, like a shy girl, with her head lowered and her face red. This time I picked the peaches, I simply squatted down, picking up the red, big, and watery picks, and picked up a small bucket in a while. The setting sun is far from the mountains, and there is a cloud of fire in the sky. The branches are like flaming satin--the sun is going to fall. Looking back at the orchard, it was translucent by the setting sun. The red apples, the sparkling grapes, the golden pears, all swayed in the transparent light. The mist at dusk shrouded the orchard like a gauze. Back to the hut, we began to taste the "war fruit" of today. Apple is sour and sweet, peach is sweet and palatable, let us eat more and more love, really want to be today, just picking the fruit, it has already made me back pain, not to mention the spring harvest. But my grandparents insisted on one spring after another. What kind of power is this to make the otherwise barren land fertile; what kind of power is this, let them give up the joy of family life; what kind of power is this, encouraging them to In the future, go decisively. The rusty shovel has made the years golden. The bleak autumn wind blew, and the white silk was thick; the pretty fruit trees grew long and deepened the wrinkles of the annual rings; the fiery sunset burned and burned, and they could not burn their future. Life is infinitely good, why not at dusk! Let us look up and meet the most beautiful scenery in the foot and muddy road, facing the tiredness in front of us, showing the sweetest smile
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