FOUR SEASONS IN MY HOMETOWN

   My heart is still in my little hometown where I spent my youth. Small charming mountains, valleys and the fields used to be filled with abundant shiny sunlight. The sky with his round face used to play magic everyday. He changed his color into blue, lemon and mysterious violet as time went on. Above all, four unique seasons, spring, summer, fall and winter, let me realize nature's wonder.
   
    Winter was always kicked out by azaleas covered the ridge of the mountains in pink. Beside the roads and beneath the trees, yellow blossom hung on short golden-bell trees. When the white petals began to flutter and dance and fall from the big apricot trees, the spores of dandelions flew in the sky like sleet in a gentle breeze.

 

 

Spring

 

    Summer rushed upon my room through the opened window like a flowing tide with the sweet smell of acacia. When I opened my mouth 'Ah,' and bit the acacia flowers, I felt my mouth was filled with somewhat bittersweet juice and smell. That made me dizzy. The young sprouts of pine tree, azaleas and acacia flowers used to be wonderful food when I felt thirsty or hungry after playing.
    To cahse after leaping frogs or wild rabbits gave me another fun. Sometimes I came across a colored snake that made a ring-shaped pad while I was looking for sweet mountain berries.  When the eye of heaven shone too hot, I plunged into the stream, making a splash. Because of the plop, the skylarks and wagtails that were taking a rest on the branch of an aged oak flew away, flapping their wings. Squirrels hid their small and soft bodies behind the leaves. At night, a number of fireflies twinkled above the stream like so many tiny jewels scattered about.

   

 

 

Summer

 

 

    In fall, clouds kissed the mountain, and then floated on the deep blue sky like the small boats. The stream tricked along. Birds babbled along with the melodious stream. The cicadas were crying as if they were sad for summer's going, and the crickets were singing as if they were glad for falls coming. Well-ripened golden rice plants in the fields were swayiing in the breeze. The fruits on the branches were ripening by the sun.

    After a while, only fallen leaves were whispering and the wind was whistling in the forest. Birds gaggled noisily and anxiously. They seemed worried about losing their houses as they noticed the fainted leaves. A lot of swallows on the wire twittered as if discussing how to get to the "Warm Southern Land."

 

 Fall

    The snow used to be a messenger of the winter. When I stepped upon the snow, whiter and softer than silver fleece, the crunching sound made a song. The branches of every tree were weighed with white blossoms. The icicles that had formed on the edge of the eave seemed ice bars. Soon the naughty sun made them drop tears.

    The biting wind from the north, turned into a slap to our faces. People turned up their collars against the harsh wind and hurried on their way home. "Oh, Wind! If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" Someone said. He was right. The Sun was ready to bring "Miss Spring" with her shy face once again.

 

 

Winter 

( Assignment 3: The Description of a specific place remembered from my childhood )