Home is a warm word for all of us. Since the word "home" came into being, there has been a corresponding wandering, but the end point of wandering is to find the paradise of one's soul-home. In the process of exile, Qu Yuan, who was separated from *, missed that home most-Du Ying. So no matter how much he suffers, he can wear a high crown and hold a sword and sing his own "Nine Songs". Once Ying Du was captured and his country was destroyed, he knew there was no home in the world. He went to another place farther away, and that was his home.

No wonder some people say that "when we meet by chance, we are all foreigners". Think about how many people have experienced such a moment: "Where is home in the Qinling Mountains, the snow is holding the green horse back." No matter how elegant Li Bai is, he will "sink back again, and I suddenly think of home"; Du Fu is selfless, knowing that "a letter from home is worth a thousand pounds of gold"; Xin Qiji just wants to return to a happy home with honor. Li Houzhu has the melancholy of "just a river flowing eastward", and it is only a memory of a comfortable seat in the homeland of the Southern Tang Dynasty ... The literati in the feudal era, perhaps because of the future, perhaps because of the war, perhaps for other reasons, wandered under the ancient sunset road in the mountains, but how could they not remember that beauty when they saw the lights in the city and the sporadic fishing light on the river, or the wisps of smoke on the ridge of Shan Ye? But I looked home, the twilight was getting thicker, and the river waves were filled with sad mist!

Even in peaceful and quiet times, the attachment to home is still so strong. "My family is beautiful, happy, peaceful and healthy, and all my brothers and sisters are in harmony." "Beijingers in new york" tells the overseas China people's view of home, that is, in the quadrangle, the family is happily reunited. Huang Lei's home in "Time flies" is the unique charm of Jiangnan water town, and it is also the taste of Grandpa Qi studying there.

At this age, our views on home are even different: we want to own a house of our own, decorate it ourselves and live by ourselves; Who walks with me in the distance in the clouds, stays near the sun, can hide their ears, stay away from the secular noise, and want a clean and free life. Rebellious children think so, but good children don't. They want to live with their parents and put their old home and future home together.

Home is not just a house, it is a haven for vagrants and a post for the soul. In short, this is also a way of life that truly belongs to me, my relatives and my family.

extreme

Home is like leaves, home is like flowers, leaves weave the beauty of flowers, and leaves are dotted with the richness of flowers. Cattle at home

My family is in the countryside, and generations have lived on that acre of land, inheriting the plow, the rake and the old buffalo from generation to generation. Plow and rake nestled in the corner of the old house. Plow was polished by the years, and uneven level, the rake, looked like an old man who had experienced many vicissitudes. The old buffalo ruminated alone by the straw pile at the end of the wheat field.

The ups and downs will always take care of this poor family from time to time, and there will always be this old buffalo with a mottled belly to accompany her. In this family, it worked hard for many years and was mercilessly whipped many times. Between the gray sky and the dark field, it weakly pulls the rusty plow. Occasionally, it will freeze, look up at the sky, and wait until the whip is lifted trembling, and the long whip sound will spread to the distance and disappear into the open field. It buried its head deeply again, more sweat flowed out, more bitterness was swallowed, and it was silent and advanced.

Mom and dad are at home

When I was a child, I always asked my father around my mother, "Mom, when will my father come back?" I miss my father! " "I stared at my mother with wide eyes.

"If you are quiet, don't make trouble, listen carefully. Dad will come back for the New Year. You should be great. Dad will be very happy when he comes back for the New Year! " My mother said, blinking and stroking my head.

I nodded hard, and tears suddenly fell on my mother's chapped hand.

Later, every time I saw my father dragging his tired body back, his dusty face showed helplessness. When I do my homework, I always find a chair and put it in front of my father, holding a basin of water to wash away the dust on his face, fatigue on his body and troubles in his heart.

Now, after school, I carry my schoolbag into the house, and my father always prepares a lot of delicious food to meet me. When I eat with relish, he never wants to take a sip.

I just entered the first year of high school, and after a month of "running around" in school, I returned home. At this time, my father came back from the ground, his unkempt hair covered his deep eyes, his rough hands were "bitten" by the soil and blood was dripping bright red, his wrinkled forehead was covered with dust, and white silk crept over his head. I just found out that my father is old.

"Dad, you're back!" Boiling tears swirled in my eyes and accidentally fell on my father's hands, creating countless "miracles." My eyes became blurred and indifferent. I secretly asked: Dad, who drove away your youth, me? Who took your youth, me?

"Son, so long to go home? Did you eat enough food at school? Are you frozen stiff? It's good to go home, it's good to go home, but you can go home ... "

Tisso

Home is a warm place, where there is a faint fragrance of love, many laughter echoes and many memories of the past. Looking back suddenly, all my gestures are full of love.

Shallow and deep memories, the past is dusty, and my father loves me like a mountain. I remember this wave. In the cold weather and snowy afternoon, you took me to the hospital with trepidation. I can't walk because I sprained my foot. In order not to hurt me again, you helped me walk with great care, and you were careful at every step. After you helped me to the bench in the corridor, you strode to register. After all the formalities are completed, you slowly help me to the doctor's office.

I looked up and saw that your tall and burly body was moist, your handsome cheeks were flushed and your smell was heavy. Even so, you comfort me from time to time: "It will be fine, don't worry." Then he gave a very stretched smile. When you heard that I was only scratched, you suddenly breathed a sigh of relief, your wrinkled brow opened, and you wiped the sweat from your forehead. After that, you put all your love and care into my heart. Became an eternal memory. So warm, so sincere, so enthusiastic.

In meaningful ink painting, your smile warms the soup.

Your hands covered with traces of time are always eroded by moonlight-like cold water, increasing fine lines and mottled traces. I stood at the door looking at you. You get up from time to time, bend your tired waist, and then instinctively comb your hair, which smells like your mother.

I quietly walked over and said, "Mom, can I help you kick your leg?" After that, you smiled with relief and enjoyment, caressed my hair and said, "My son has grown up and is sensible." I bowed my head shyly and turned my heart a thousand times. Your smile is a little tired, full of tenderness and shining with relief. In this room, an ink painting has been formed, which has become countless worries and waits. You light up my night with fatigue, and you turn waiting into a warm breath buried in my heart.

In the photo album in my mind, there is a vivid past.

In the dusty memory, how many sultry nights, my mother took a cattail leaf fan and fanned a room full of ribbons for me, which touched my heartstrings and brought a little coolness. How many poor winters are scorching in the hot sun, and my father comes to pick me up on time every night. Home is such a place full of love. When the weather is hot, you can shade the sun and enjoy a cool life. Cold weather can give you warmth and warm people's hearts.

The quiet company of home, as shallow and warm as flowers, flows in my heart. Love is like leaving fragrance all over the world, laughing like a bright lamp all over the sky, colorful memories, blooming a thousand petals of fragrance, releasing a touch of brilliance and surging a pool of fragrance.

This is my home, a home with many stories and many joys.