时间：2018-12-21 15:33:32本文内容及图片来源于读者投稿,如有侵权请联系xuexila888@qq.com 诗盈 我要投稿
美丽的秋天 The Beauty of The Autumn
Call - call - call! Hear the voice of wind. Ah! Autumn is finally here!
Garden, chrysanthemum competing opened! There are white the light yellow of ... .... Colorful chrysanthemums flourish in light wind, as if greeting them with people! Sweet-scented osmanthus trees out of the light yellow flowers. A wind blowing, a fresh wind into the nose, ah, really incense!
Orchards, the apple red, like little brother's face. Aunts and uncles are tiptoe with apple picking. Thunk! A ripe apple from the tree fell down. Persimmon tree, hanging on a persimmon tree, far from looking like a red lantern! Grapes on a channeling channeling a , as one finally purple beads, purple was black, people really want a bite it.
Fields, the endless golden rice, just like the earth covered with a layer of gold to the carpet. Farmers are busy on the busy man under, while cutting rice, while rice into basket. Face expression of joy and happiness.
Autumn is a season of charming scenery, it is a harvest season. Ah! The fall, you really beautiful you!
陪在你身边 I'll always be there for you!
No matter what happens, I ll always be there for you!
In 1989 an 8.2 earthquake almost flattened America, killing over 30,000 people in less than four minutes. In the midst of utter devastation and chaos, a father left his wife safely at home and rushed to the school where his son was supposed to be, only to discover that the building was as flat as a pancake.
After the unforgettably initial shock, he remembered the promise he had made to his son: "No matter what, I'll always be there for you!" And tears began to fill his eyes. As he looked at the pile of ruins that once was the school, it looked hopeless, but he kept remembering his commitment to his son.
He began to direct his attention towards where he walked his son to class at school each morning. Remembering his son's classroom would be in the back right corner of the building, he rushed there and started digging through the ruins.
As he was digging, other helpless parents arrived, clutching their hearts, saying: "My son!" "My daughter!" Other well-meaning parents tried to pull him off what was left of the school, saying: "It's too late! They're all dead! You can't help! Go home! Come on, face reality, there's nothing you can do!"
To each parent he responded with one line: "Are you going to help me now?" And then he con tinued to dig for his son, stone by stone. The fire chief showed up and tried to pull him off the school's ruins saying, "Fires are breaking out, explosions are happening everywhere. You're in danger. We'll take care of it. Go home." To which this loving, caring American father asked, "Are you going to help me now?"
The police came and said, "You're angry, anxious and it's over. You're endangering others. Go home. We'll handle it!" To which he replied, "Are you go ing to help me now?" No one helped.
Courageously he went on alone because he needed to know for himself: "Is my boy alive or is he dead?" He dug for eight hours...12 hours...24 hours...36 hours...then, in the 38th hour, he pulled back a large stone and heard his son's voice. He screamed his son's name, "ARMAND!" He heard back, "Dad!?! It's me, Dad! I told the other kids not to worry. I told them that if you were alive, you'd save me and when you saved me, they'd be saved. You promised, No matter what happens, I'll always be there for you! You did it, Dad!" "What's going on in there? How is it?" the father asked.
There are 14 of us left out of 33, Dad. We're scared, hungry, thirsty and thankful you're here. When the building collapsed, it made a triangle, and it saved us."
"Come out, boy!"
"No, Dad! Let the other kids out first, cause I know you'll get me! No matter what happens, I know you'll always be there for me!"
That day he decreased the distance between him and the ship by three miles;the next day by two-for he was crawling now as Bill had crawled;and the end of the day found the ship still seven mailes away and him unable to make even a mile a day. Still the indian summer held on, and he continued to crawl and faint ,turn and turn about; and ever the sick wolf coughed and wheezed at his heels. His knees had become raw meat like his feet, and though he paddled them with the shirt from his back it was a red track he left behind him on the moss and stones. Once , glancing back, he saw the wolf licking hungrily his bleeding trail, and he saw sharply what his own end might be-unless-unless he could get the wolf. Then began as grim a tragedy of existence as was ever played-a sick man that crawled, a sick wolf that limped, two creatures dragging their dying carcasses across the desolation and hunting each other's lives.
Had it been a well wolf, it would not have mattered so much to the man;but the thought of going to feed the maw of that loathsome and all but dead thing was repugnant to him. He was finicky. His mind had begun to wander again, and to be perplexed by hallucinations, while his lucid intervals grew rarer and shorter.
He was awaken once from a faint by a wheeze close in his ear.The wolf leaped lamely back, losing its footing and falling in its weakness. It was ludicrous, but he was not amused. Nor was he even afraid. He was too far gone for that. But his mind was for the moment clear, and he lay and considered.
The ship was more than four miles away. He could see it quite distinctly when he rubbed the mists out of his eyes. But he could never crawl those four miles. He knew that, and was very calm in the knowledge. He knew that he could not crawl half a mile. And yet he wanted to live. It was unreasonable that he should die after all he had undergone. Fate asked too much of him. And , dying, he declined to die. It was stark madness, perhaps, but in the very grip of Death he defied Death and refused to die.
He closed his eyes and composed himself with infinite precaution. He steeled himself to keep above the suffocating languor that lapped like a rising tide through all the wells of his being. It was very like a sea, this deadly languor, that rose and rose and drowned his consciousness bit by bit. Sometimes he was all but submerged, swimming through oblivion with a faltering stroke;and again, by some strange alchemy of soul, he would find another shred of will and strike out more strongly.
Teach him to sell his brawn and brains to the highest bidder, but never to put a price on his heart and soul.
Teach him to close his ears to a howling mob...and to stand and fight if he thinks he's right.
Teach him gently, World, but don't coddle him, because only the test of fire makes fine steel.
This is a big order, World, but see what you can do.
He's such a nice little fellow.