She came in slowly from outside the classroom, with a breeze. Her hair fluttered, reflecting a little warm light under bright glasses. Her eyes are black, and only the sunlight or the shadow of light is fluttering slowly. She lost her way in the deep darkness and couldn't get out.
She always holds only history books and workbooks in her hand, with a few sheets of paper loosely sandwiched inside. She doesn't like giving lectures on the computer, just pointing in the air with a pointer in her hand. History books with unclear covers on the desk, or opened or closed, those deep and long histories merged into a calm river from her voice. Occasionally splashing water makes people feel resentful or contemplative, or frightened or happy. Her eyes are peaceful and deep black, a kind of deep black, deep and full of vicissitudes. Yes, how can a history student not have some heavy vicissitudes of history in his eyes? Behind the vicissitudes of life is the light in her eyes, which is not the shimmer of sunlight refracted into her eyes, but the gentle but charming light emitted by that unique thought.
"Independent spirit, free thinking."
The first sentence she taught us.
She used PPT when she taught us this sentence. That should be our first history lesson when we met her. She made these words so big that there were only two lines on the whole screen. Her tone is still dull, but there is a wise light in her deep eyes.
We didn't take this sentence to heart at that time. Yes, because of spiritual independence and ideological freedom, it is really too difficult to do these two things.
After a few more classes, I have no idea about her. This lukewarm attitude continued until that day.
It was a sunny day. It was probably the fourth class in the afternoon, and we listened to her quietly. At that time, we were still talking about War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression, which was a heavy history, already a heavy history-in her story, it became even heavier. I remember that day her eyes, those dark eyes, revealed not only resentment and anger, but also helpless sigh and hate. Her voice still sounds very light, but it seems to have a sonorous feeling of landing. The pointer in her hand danced with the wind. The world outside the window is quiet, even the slight birdsong seems to have disappeared. The color of the sunset covered half the sky and cast a red shadow on the blackboard. It seems that she is the only one left in the whole world, attacking and criticizing mercilessly with her thoughts, like a sword with a white light shining at the tip. Her eyes were full of emotion, and there was a bright fire in the darkness. She brought our thoughts into a brand-new world, which is the world of her thoughts, and the corners reflected by her eyes are bright and gorgeous. That day, I finally knew that her thoughts were a free and unrestrained breeze. Behind the heavy vicissitudes in her eyes, it is actually a world of light and free wind. The white light in her eyes is not light-how can the shallowness of light hide the light from the dancing free thoughts in her soul?
"Independent spirit, free thinking."
I think she has practiced this sentence herself.
No one will agree with what she thinks is right. Even if everyone is different from her, she will stick to her own ideas.
Since then, I like her classes, her ideas and her people. Only then did I realize that her eyes were so beautiful, so deep and so clever.
She jokingly called her lecture "Storytelling", a popular program. Her story is more than a retelling. She made that simple history book very thick, profound and mellow; It has also become very thin, simple and to the point. She always likes to talk about an event involving a series of complicated or simple stories. She never stingy evaluation, no matter to whom, napoleon, voltaire, whether praise or disgrace, she will say it, said naturally and freely. I will never get tired of her class because of her voice and eyes. Her eyes swept the whole classroom, as warm as a breeze. The light and shadow in her eyes is the gathering of her wise thoughts and the condensation of her sincere language. Whether it is good or bad, gentle or sharp, it is generally pure and beautiful.
Her eyes contain history, and history breeds in her eyes.
Her eyes seem to have passed through thousands of years of history, with heavy historical precipitation and faint floating dust of missing.
Her eyes are the track of history, and we are people walking on ancient ruts.
I just hope that this light will exist forever, watching us change slowly, watching us find our own track, watching us go further and further on the road of life, with that kind of "independent spirit and free thought".
That beam of eye light passing through history is the most beautiful fragrance in the wind.
The footsteps of the Spring Festival have gone far away, but after careful aftertaste, the taste of the year haunts my heart.
Miss Jie pretended to be angry and pursed her lips and complained, "It's been so long since I arrived at the Bund! So tired! " My mother and I smiled at each other, but we had to spread our hands. Father once again appeased: "Don't worry, there are still 10 minutes!" "I guess my father must be lost. Does someone seem to ask for directions ahead? Walking in, I found that it was probably a high school student, holding a thermos cup in one hand and steaming boiling water in the other, staring at my aunt who was buried in her work without saying a word. Doubt forced me to take two steps forward. Aunt sweeper bent down, waved her right hand and swept the garbage into the dustpan with a broom. Her dark cheeks were covered with furrowed wrinkles, her thin body was so weak, and her work clothes were covered with dust, which was in sharp contrast with her thin and white little brother. Suddenly, the little brother smiled and handed the water in his hand to the aunt of the sweeper: "Mom, have some hot tea. If you don't let me help sweep the floor, you can always have a rest. " Aunt looked around anxiously and said softly, "alas, go and play!" "! It is difficult to stand here with me after the holiday and let others see it. "Before aunt say that finish, the little brother still smiled. He insisted on handing the tea and scolded, "Mom! Have tea. Stop talking, I will, I will. " Little brother was speechless and flushed. He scratched his head, paused and said loudly, "No matter what you do, you are my mother! Usually I go to other places to study, so I have no time to accompany you. I just want to spend more time with you during the Spring Festival! Otherwise, this Chinese New Year is not a Chinese New Year! "At that moment, in the sun, I seemed to see tears in my aunt's eyes. Little brother is in a hurry again. I don't know what to say. I can only gently wipe away her tears.
Forgive my slurred words, accompanying you is my longest-lasting confession.
Being together is the warmest promise. How can you miss a table full of delicious food during the Spring Festival? The whole family is holding hands in the kitchen and doing their best. Father also put on an apron, but he can't tie a rope. Mom laughed when she saw dad's clumsy appearance, and quickly shook off the water on her hand to help dad fasten his belt. Don't look at my dad, his cooking is awesome! Pour the oil into the pot, and when it is fully heated, put the prepared fish into the pot and splash the oil. Father was so busy that he closed the lid and grabbed a hand crank. When he opened the pot again, he turned the fish upside down, revealing a golden belly, and the fragrance lingered in the kitchen, evoking the greedy bugs of his little sister. My little sister stared at the fish in the pot with shining eyes, just trying to taste it. Seeing her greedy little appearance, I couldn't help laughing: "If I eat any more, I will become a chubby little girl and can't put on a nice little skirt!" She snorted contemptuously: "nothing, I am taller than you anyway!" Besides, you are not thin. " Looking at our nonsense bickering, although mom and dad didn't stop working, I saw their happy smiles. Busy for a while, looking at the delicious food on the table, I said, "Come on, come on, finally the family can get together,' cheers'!" At this time on weekdays, the information on the mobile phone must have bridged our thoughts. At this moment, we are surrounded by the warmth around the hot pot, and we can see each other's happy smiles. We can only hear the sound of bubbles rolling in the hot pot and the laughter floating in the north wind.
Thank you for getting together, and let it be the warmest promise.
Think carefully, no matter where I am, as long as I can accompany the people we love, that kind of happiness is the flavor of the year in my heart.