descriptive essay竹林,英语描写文

The Bamboo Grove

The truth is that the bamboos have been growing there since sixty years ago. Of course they do not just always stand still; some of them push through of the earth after a spring rain, and some quietly come back to the earth where they were given birth to, just as people do.

This small place is haunting my mind all the time. Though now I am quite a big boy at the age of twenty, I still can not stop recalling the fun I had when playing with my grandpa in the bamboo grove. Usually it happened in a hot summer that my grandpa and I sat on bamboo chairs in the shadow escaping from the scalding sun. These lush green naughty children tried to cover the whole world with their strong limbs, standing straightly against the sky or bending themselves hard in order to reach a further place, but there were always some rays of light slipped in and portrayed many various shapes and pictures, which could be very beautiful with the help of imagination and my grandpa. And the bamboos were very tall, comparing with human beings, but it was rarely to see that they got broken off by the strong wind or heavy rain because they were empty inside and flexible. That is what I should learn from bamboos according to my grandpa. Knowing about nature deeply inside but never fighting against it was the key to be a man, and I know that he did. He was so peaceful to sit on the bamboo chair, enjoying the breeze which came once for a while in the grove, like a child at my age then. And now he must have been a cute baby sleeping in the arms of the earth. And the bamboos have been keeping reminding me of the old times and the old person that have gone forever. It did change a lot when I was fifteen years old, studying in a senior high school,

which was a bit far away from home. I came back home after quite a long time of struggle against mathematics, English and their other buddies, and surprisingly found out that there was not just myself struggling. The bamboo grove was totally destroyed by my aunt, who insisted that the grove belonged to her, so was the relationship between my aunt and my family. And I had no idea about that expect the sorry for my little friends. Bending their stems miserably were few tiny and bony bamboos, which looked exactly like the survivers in the battle of Waterloo; most of bamboos just lied on the ground with their dry brunches and limbs, breathing, crying, ranting and raving. The resentment has begun to breed wildly since then.

I have not come back to my hometown for over half a year, and even when I am at home, I can hardly see that grove any more. Because I always can not help avoiding to look in the direction of it, letting them grow freely in my heart. With the blessing of the spring rain, their leaves, which contain a lot of water, are so green that they are glittering like emeralds; the soft and delicate limbs are willing to welcome me with a big hug; Besides, their elegant brunches swing in the breeze proudly, like professional ballet dancers. It is the certain place where dreams come true; Every life deserves the chance to live for himself. It is also the certain place where dreams die. The innocence of a child was buried with those rotten dark bamboo roots. The family bones were destroyed by the unpredictable strong wind. Though there were so much happiness and sufferings, now I still miss that place quite much.