高二写景作文:高山剪影_1000字

时间:2021-05-27 15:40:13

  说起祖国的名山大川,作为中华儿女的我们总是颇为自豪――巍峨的五岳,诗情画意的庐山,九曲溪声叮咚的武夷山,哪一个不四海扬名,在诗人兴致勃发的吟哦中载入万古诗篇。


  可是,在我的心中留下的高山剪影却没有它们的风采。真正的“高山”印象镌刻在我的记忆中,独特而真实――那是个数九寒天,我们一家回到山区姥姥家走亲访友。大雪下过,父亲不知怎的热情高涨,要带我走进“无名大山,探究另外一个与众不同的世界”。就出于这种看似荒谬的目的,我们父女俩真的套上了厚厚的羽绒服,在这样一个数九


  寒天里徒步走进了积雪的山谷――那些不知被世人遗忘了多久,此刻在皑皑白雪的掩盖下依然沉默的无名的山川。


  在雪地里行走是一件无比艰难的事,但最难熬的还不是在雪坑里摸爬滚打的疲惫和焦躁,而是面对那些静默的大山时心中难言的寂寞。孤独感伴随着那眼前或灰或白的山的影子悄悄袭来。好不容易到达山谷中央,我深深地吸了一口山谷里冰凉的空气,而后仰头观望周围苍茫的雪野,那在冬日里银灰色天空的映衬下唯一凸显出的,只有山脉跌宕起伏的曲线。这景象实在没有我期待中的那份辉煌壮丽,或是半点气势雄浑,却只是粗糙、单调而贫乏。我开始怀疑如此辛苦跋涉的意义,难道只是为了这些哑然无语的大山吗?我有些许沮丧。


  父亲仿佛从我失望埋怨的眼神中摸透了我的心思:“你从小到大也游览过不少山山水水了吧?今天我们出行的目的,就是来游一游这些普普通通没有名气的大山。你……对它们有什么印象?”说完,父亲细心地把望远镜的焦距调好,递到我手中。镜片瞬时缩近了我与山谷四壁的距离。我看到了那大雪重压下隐隐显现的深绿色的松针――成群的松树在土壤沙化、岩石裸露的山体上艰难扎根,生命竟然在如此恶劣的气候条件下都能存活,立于数座高山谷地的我,尚能感受到时时刮过的西北风的冰凉刺骨。我和父亲穿越雪地走到对面的那座山下,脱下手套拍拍那冰冷、坚硬如铁的大石块,它们生的就像北方的汉子一样粗犷豪放,有着生硬的线条。这些山石在I卫着什么呢?我从山的底部向上仰望――此时此刻心情瞬间改变,我真正领悟到:这是一座真正的高山。


  没有一年四季熙熙攘攘的游人留下的赞美之词,只有松林里筑窝的老鸦呱呱的吵闹声;没有风和日丽的天气和适宜的雨水,只有猛烈的西北风和纷飞的大雪。这些使它们保持沉默,远离一切美名。历史上没有记载下它们的名字,没有为它们谱写的诗篇,可是在此刻我的心中,那道灰色天空映衬下分明的山脊,虽然不秀美不够挺拔高耸,却成为了真正的高山的剪影:默默无名,不争功利,却以一种最坚韧、最刚强的姿态,倔强地挺立在那片它坚守的土地上!




英文版:

Speaking of the famous mountains and rivers of the motherland, we are always very proud as Chinese people - the lofty five mountains, the poetic Lushan Mountain, the Jiuqu River sound of Wuyi Mountain, which one is not famous all over the world, in the poet's interest in the booming recitation of ancient poetry.

However, the mountain silhouettes left in my heart do not have their style. The real "mountain" impression is engraved in my memory, unique and real - it was a cold day, our family went back to the mountain grandma's home to visit relatives and friends. After the heavy snow, my father was so enthusiastic that he wanted to take me into the "nameless mountain" and explore a different world. For this seemingly absurd purpose, our father and daughter really put on a thick down jacket, in such a number nine

In the cold days, I walked into the snow Valley - the nameless mountains and rivers that have been forgotten by the world for a long time and are still silent under the cover of white snow.

Walking in the snow is a very difficult thing, but the most difficult thing is not to feel tired and anxious in the snow pit, but the unspeakable loneliness in the face of those silent mountains. Loneliness comes with the shadow of the gray or white mountain. When I finally got to the middle of the valley, I took a deep breath of the cold air in the valley, and then looked up at the vast snow fields around me. The only thing that stood out against the silver gray sky in winter was the ups and downs of the mountains. This scene is not as magnificent as I expected, or a little bit powerful, but it is only rough, monotonous and poor. I began to doubt the significance of such a hard trek, is it just for these dumb mountains? I'm a little bit depressed.

My father seemed to understand my mind from my disappointed and complaining eyes: "have you visited many mountains and rivers since you were young? Today, the purpose of our trip is to visit these common and unknown mountains. What's your... Impression of them? " With that, my father carefully adjusted the focus of the telescope and handed it to me. The lens shortens the distance between me and the four walls of the valley. I saw the dark green pine needles looming under the heavy pressure of the heavy snow - groups of pine trees are hard to take root on the sandy soil and bare rocks. Life can survive in such bad weather conditions. Standing in several high mountains and valleys, I can still feel the chill of the northwest wind blowing from time to time. My father and I walked across the snow to the foot of the opposite mountain, took off our gloves and patted the cold, hard as iron boulders. They were as rough and bold as men in the north, with stiff lines. What are these rocks guarding? I look up from the bottom of the mountain - at this moment, my mood changes instantly, and I really realize that this is a real mountain.

There is no praise left by the bustling tourists all year round, only the noise of crows in the pine forest; There is no sunny weather and suitable rain, only strong northwest wind and heavy snow. These keep them silent and away from all good names. There is no record of their names or poems written for them in history, but in my heart at this moment, the clear ridge against the gray sky, though not beautiful and tall enough, has become the silhouette of a real mountain: silent and nameless, not fighting for utility, but with the most tenacious and strongest attitude, stubbornly standing on the land it sticks to!