英语春天的作文

时间：2024-11-07 20:47:37 春天我要投稿

精选英语春天的作文5篇

　　在现实生活或工作学习中，大家都跟作文打过交道吧，借助作文人们可以实现文化交流的目的。如何写一篇有思想、有文采的作文呢？下面是小编收集整理的英语春天的作文5篇，仅供参考，希望能够帮助到大家。

精选英语春天的作文5篇

英语春天的作文篇1

　　The recovery of all things, flowers, green grass, willow germination, flower bud is … … oh! This is the spring of spring.

　　Ziyan's end finally broke the silence last winter, “ chirp ” call, wake-up sleep in the spring, the wind girl gently stroked the melody, the notes, into &ldquo &rdquo dripping dew;; playfully flying to the earth, oh! This is the first rain in spring.

　　Intermittent rain, wake up the sleeping earth, awakened the hibernating animal, at this moment a party to transform heaven and earth, happy!

　　Oh Spring, my favorite season.

　　She was the beginning of a good time and the end of a snow-white time. She, softly and gracefully, became the queen of the four seasons. The following are the reasons I like her.

　　Farmers began planting, the birds begin to sing, the animal began to cheer, without stop rain, the seed moisture, hang up the sun, let the seed of warm, fish from the water looked up the breath of rain, animal in the rain shower, how wonderful!

　　I went to the rose buds, with gentle hands, I went to the germination of willow, with its long braids, I walked to the lawn, see grass flowers erect, like each other in greeting!

　　Flying over a group of geese in the sky, they have just come back and go to the Carnival Party.

　　I love spring, according to the warm sunshine in the body, on the way home, I enjoyed every spring to give!

英语春天的作文篇2

　　A Promise of Spring

　　Early in the spring, about a month before my grandpa's stroke, I began walking for an hour every afternoon. Some days I would walk four blocks south to see Grandma and Grandpa. At eighty-six, Grandpa was still quite a gardener, so I always watched for his earliest blooms and each new wave of spring flowers.

　　I was especially interested in flowers that year because I was planning to landscape my own yard and I was eager to get Grandpa's advice. I thought I knew pretty much what I wanted — a yard full of bushes and plants that would bloom from May till November.

　　It was right after the first rush of purple violets in the lawns and the sudden blaze of forsythia that spring that Grandpa had a stroke. It left him without speech and with no movement on his left side. The whole family rallied to Grandpa. We all spent many hours by his side. Some days his eyes were eloquent — laughing at our reported mishaps, listening alertly, revealing painful awareness of his inability to care for himself. There were days, too, when he slept most of the time, overcome with the weight of his approaching death.

　　As the months passed, I watched the growing earth with Grandpa's eyes. Each time I was with him, I gave him a garden report. He listened, gripping my hand with the sure strength and calm he had always had. But he could not answer my questions. The new flowers would blaze, peak, fade, and die before I knew their names.

　　Grandpa's illness held him through the spring and on, week by week, through summer. I began spending hours at the local nursery, studying and choosing seeds and plants. It gave me special joy to buy plants I had seen in Grandpa's garden and give them humble starts in my own garden. I discovered Sweet William, which I had admired for years in Grandpa's garden without knowing its name. And I planted it in his honor.

　　As I waited and watched in the garden and by Grandpa's side, some quiet truths emerged. I realized that Grandpa loved flowers that were always bloom; he kept a full bed of roses in his garden. But I noticed that Grandpa left plenty of room for the brief highlights. Not every nook of his garden was constantly in bloom. There was always a treasured surprise tucked somewhere.

　　I came to see, too, that Grandpa's garden mirrored his life. He was a hard worker who understood the law of the harvest. But along with his hard work, Grandpa knew how to enjoy each season, each change. We often teased him about his life history. He had written two paragraphs summarizing fifty years of work, and a full nine pages about every trip and vacation he'd ever taken.

　　In July, Grandpa worsened. One hot afternoon arrived when no one else was at his bedside. He was glad to have me there, and reached out his hand to pull me close.

　　I told Grandpa what I had learned — that few flowers last from April to November. Some of the most beautiful bloom for only a month at most. To really enjoy a garden, you have to plant corners and drifts and rows of flowers that will bloom and grace the garden, each in its own season.

　　His eyes listened to every word. Then, another discovery: "If I want a garden like yours, Grandpa, I'm going to have to work." His grin laughed at me, and his eyes teased me.

　　"Grandpa, in your life right now the chrysanthemums are in bloom. Chrysanthemums and roses." Tears clouded both our eyes. Neither of us feared this last flower of fall, but the wait for spring seems longest in November. We knew how much we would miss each other.

　　Sitting there, I suddenly felt that the best gift I could give Grandpa would be to give voice to the testimony inside both of us. He had never spoken of his testimony to me, but it was such a part of his life that I had never questioned if Grandpa knew. I knew he knew.

　　"Grandpa," I began — and his grip tightened as if he knew what I was going to say — "I want you to know that I have a testimony. I know the Savior lives. I bear witness to you that Joseph Smith is a prophet. I love the Restoration and joy in it." The steadiness in Grandpa's eyes told how much he felt it too. "I bear witness that President Kimball is a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true, Grandpa. Every part of me bears this witness."

　　"Grandpa," I added quietly, "I know our Father in Heaven loves you." Unbidden, unexpected, the Spirit bore comforting, poignant testimony to me of our Father's love for my humble, quiet Grandpa.

　　A tangible sense of Heavenly Father's compassionate awareness of Grandpa's suffering surrounded us and held us. It was so personal and powerful that no words were left to me — only tears of gratitude and humility, tears of comfort.

　　Grandpa and I wept together.

　　It was the end of August when Grandpa died, the end of summer. As we were choosing flowers from the florist for Grandpa's funeral, I slipped away to Grandpa's garden and walked with my memories of columbine and Sweet William. Only the tall lavender and white phlox were in bloom now, and some baby's breath in another corner.

　　On impulse, I cut the prettiest strands of phlox and baby's breath and made one more arrangement for the funeral. When they saw it, friends and family all smiled to see Grandpa's flowers there. We all felt how much Grandpa would have liked that.

　　The October after Grandpa's death, I planted tulip and daffodil bulbs, snowdrops, crocuses, and bluebells. Each bulb was a comfort to me, a love sent to Grandpa, a promise of spring.

英语春天的作文篇3

　　Spring is a hopeful and alive season.When you walk through a street in therain,tasting the latex of the clear sky,don't you think it a joys of life? Spring is coming,my dear friends.Listen to the sound of the world and look at the new world.The wind blows our faces gently.However,is different from the winter wind. Do you look forward a sunny day ? Then you can sit on a chair in the garden with flowers are beautiful in the morning in March and ,wait for the sunrise quietly.Is there anybody having a free spirit and tasting a cup of tea,in the new germination of grass.

　　Spring has been here already,my dear friends.When your heart is full of darkness and despair,don't forget your childish dream,and believe,sping is coming soon.

英语春天的作文篇4

　　In march in the wet air spring, I always imagine a picture: garden outside on the grass with small yellow and purple, the middle of the courtyard of the cherry tree tree tree full of flowers to bloom in a warm southerly breeze slowly, in the replacement of the four seasons of green fruit with wide bilge painful expression, from shiny branches grow out of it. Six in the middle of the night of spring, the old cat can't sleep all night, under the tree stamping, swan couples, bark, and the ducks who teams in pairs to fly to the moon.

　　And I always wake up in the middle of the night, look at the moon rose down-stairs branches long painting on the pebbles, which are covered with buds of green, please.

　　In the middle of the night I heard the spring is static. Lingering in the ear, there is a special sound short, and want to pour a spoonful of sugar into the tea when the sound, it should be a light rain slapping on to the leaves on the trees. They are reminiscent of the day the road leading to the village.

　　"Sand sand sand......", in the darkness, forming a slow rhythm.

　　Slow is composed in B minor. Followed the path of the night and smooth.

　　On the grass in the spring, filled with fluffy dandelion, with a light yellow colour and lustre, clusters into a cluster to hide.

　　Like the raindrops in the air.

　　Don't disturb them. Heavy sleep sleep. Gentle wind rustled gradually forming the flowers. In the gentle spring.

　　"But you and I as a life hasn't been crying, and gets a long sleep time."

　　It's just my fantasy. Can you see?

　　"-- - I can see it."

　　在三月春天濡湿的空气里，我总想象着一幅画面：花园外面的草地上开满了黄色和紫色的小花，院子当中的樱桃树树上满树的花都从熏风里缓慢地绽放，在四季的更替里青色的果子带着张大的胀痛表情，从发亮的枝条里长出来。春天的深夜六，老猫整夜不能安睡，在树下跺着步，天鹅夫妇发出叫声，而野鸭子们成队成对地向月亮飞去。

　　而我总在深夜醒来，看月亮把楼下的蔷薇的枝条长长地画在卵石上，那上面长满了青请的花苞。

　　我在深夜里，听见了春天的静。萦绕在耳边的，有一种声音特别短促，想一勺糖倒进红茶时发出的声音一样，那应该是小雨拍打到树上的叶子的`声音。它们让人想起了白天那些引领着道路通向小区的梧桐树。

　　“沙……沙……沙”，在夜幕里，形成一段缓慢的旋律。

　　缓慢是沉稳的B小调。循着夜的轨迹滑着。

　　在春天的草地上，长满了毛茸茸的蒲公英，带着一种淡黄的色泽，成簇成簇拥挤地隐藏着。

　　像是空气中的雨滴。

　　没有惊扰。沉沉眠眠。温柔的风拂过逐渐成形的花海。在温和的春里。

　　“而你我如同尚未啼哭的生命，时光切不断绵长的沉眠。”

　　这一切只是我的幻想。你看得见么?

　　“―――我看得见。”