mountain climbing

I woke up early in the morning and was freezing cold, so I shivered and covered the blanket tightly, then looked out the window. The autumn rain is still falling, hitting the security net on the clattering, and do not care to sleep, dressed, pulling up the sleeping mother, they drove to the foot of a mountain. As for what this mountain is called, I am not quite sure, I only know that my grandmother lives in this mountain.

I put up my umbrella, pulled my jacket tight, and walked up the mountain, enjoying the scenery along the way. As it was early in the morning, the sky was drizzling with fine drizzle, and the leaves and grass were filled with many small droplets of water, which seemed to spill out when touched. The original is not wide, and very steep path, and because no one has been weeding for a long time has blocked the original road, only by virtue of the traces of other people trampled down the grass to distinguish where is the road. And because of the day's rain, the road is wet on the dirt, a slip will slip, can only step on the scattered stones on the ground, difficult to walk forward.

Gradually, the rain compared to just a lot less, then put away the troublesome umbrella, strolled in the road to the grass, I do not know what is the road, let the rain gently patted on the body, comfortable. The road is filled with a variety of unknown grass, although it is now autumn, but they are still full of endless vitality. Some of the grass tips are a bit yellow, but they are not absent, but stand straight, seemingly not afraid of the wind and rain. They grow very densely, as far as the eye can see, as long as there is a place of soil have their traces.

In addition to grass, there are also trees growing on the side of the road, although not as dense as the forest, but also a beautiful. The trees among the woods are uneven in height, the tall ones are stout and the short ones are disgusting, as if stunted. This reminds me of Yan Fu's translation of "The Theory of Heavenly Evolution": the survival of the fittest. Some of the leaves could not resist the passing of the months, and drifted off sporadically, falling to the ground and mixing with the soil in a black mass, which reminded me of Gong Zizhen's "Miscellaneous Poems of the Hai": "The fallen red is not a heartless thing, but is turned into spring mud to protect the flowers. I hope you can grow better and taller next year.

If you walk a little further, you will see a tall mound of earth next to the grass, on which a very dense wild pepper tree grows, with black and red fruits covered with crystal clear droplets. Some fruits have opened their mouths, spitting out the black seeds contained in the mouth, waiting for a new partner next year; some half-grin, the mouth half contained, seemingly reluctant to spit out; some are not very ripe, but also tightly wrapped in the body, refusing to tear the coat. The tree grew scattered orange leaves, picked a piece, and felt a slight pain in the fingers, put the leaves in the palm of your hand gently spread. The color of the leaf is not Become more the color of the leaves of the masses in autumn close, but the texture is still very clear to turn the leaf over you can see the edge of the leaf has many small thorns, this is just the reason for the hand pain it.

The first thing you need to do is to get to your grandmother's house, and you'll be excited to shout at your grandmother's house. I was so scared that I trembled and took the stone my mother handed me, the sound of barking was getting closer and closer and I was so scared that I clutched my mother's hand. The sound of "rustling" came from the tall grass, and a dog came out from there, and I shrank back hard, and my mother roared at it, and threw a few stones, and the dog went away without looking back. I was so distracted that I rushed to my grandmother's house to welcome another dog, which I had held since I was a child and played with her, and it was not pure white in color, but bought from another family. No matter how long it took, it never forgot me. I gave her the rather artistic name of "White Boy" when I was young.

After playing with her for a while, I took her to the chestnut grove behind the adobe. There are about one to twenty chestnut trees, of different heights, probably because of the heat this year, although the trees have buns of chestnuts, and each one has an open mouth, but they are quite small. The chestnut buns are full of thorns that make your skin tingle, and some of the thorns have bright pearls of water hanging on them, seemingly tempting you, want to eat me, then come and touch me. A flying kick in a thin and short tree, immediately fell five or six chestnut bags, and one smashed on the body of the sonny, the pain it owl fled away. The two chestnuts were in the bag when I picked up a chestnut bag on the ground with my toe and used a stone to pry it open along the crack.

If you're looking for a good deal more, you'll be able to see your grandmother's vegetable patch, which is neatly filled with chopped corn, probably not ready to be burned. The yellow corn stalks fell neatly in one direction, lying on the brown soil, in stark contrast to the shiny purple eggplants and red and green peppers in the neighboring field. Change into rain shoes, run to the vegetable field to smell the fragrance of the soil, admire the fruits of the land to us, suddenly feel that it is all so beautiful.

Touring in the mountains, swimming in the mountains, enjoying ourselves and having fun.