Classic prose describing the Qingming Festival

The Qingming Festival has come and gone, and it is difficult to think about it, and there are a lot of feelings. There are both feelings and memories, but also a kind of surprise and impulse to the trees, thriving, spring dyeing the earth, is a kind of spring breeze for the new life, new atmosphere, new pursuits, new goals and expectations, is a kind of one year in the spring of the sense of urgency, sense of responsibility and sense of mission.

Qingming for people, is a kind of spiritual world travel, let people in history and reality, tradition and modern tracing the origin of Chinese culture, feel the essence of Qingming culture, enjoy the pleasure of Qingming culture, clean the dust of the soul, in the beginning of a new year, the renewal of all things, with the culture of Qingming to cool the heart of the restless, with the sage philosophers of the high winds and bright than their own words and deeds, so that the history of the future, and let the The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a new one, and you'll be able to do that.

At the same time, Qingming is a kind of Qingming ecological message, green mountains, green water, birds and flowers, harmony and quiet, is the people of the ecological Qingming real sense. Grass grows and warblers fly in the spring of March, Qingming Festival with her clear and moving face arrived, Qingming Festival, the sky is clear, green waves rippling, in the breeding dreams and the future of the season, people remember ancestors, hiking and trekking, affectionately embrace the earth, mountains and rivers, in the embrace of nature, longing for the future, to meet the arrival of a new life in a happy mood.

It is a solemn ceremony of collective trekking, bathing in sunshine and embracing nature. Starting from this day, the spiritual unity of heaven and man and the physical unity of heaven and man are realized in the spring breeze and grass green fusion. The depression of fall and winter can be shouted out in the field, and the tiredness of the idle winter will be gone at once. Life, work, career, have begun a new pursuit and record; the new pursuit, urging people to catch up with the spring wind, horse whip; the new pursuit, inspiring people to go beyond yesterday, create tomorrow.

And the earth between the mountains and rivers, long ponds and grass, walking horses and eagles; high foo Pinggang, cockfighting cuju; lush forests and clear Yue, chopping Ruan playing zheng; prodigal son sumo, children and children kite", in the color of the spring in the long, the thought of the feelings into open-mindedness, bleak and cold bloomed with hope, and everywhere is presented in the unity of the sky and man's totem scene.

In the Ching Ming Festival festival rituals to sweep the tomb, thousands of miles to catch up with the grave, remembering the family and ancestor's honor and disgrace, to send the future of the good wishes, to achieve the Bai Juyi penned "the sea of sex alcohol clearing the level of less waves, the heart of the field sweeping the static dust-free" realm.

Standing in front of the graves of deceased relatives, remembering the kindness of ancestors, consoling the ancestor's inheritance and family honor and disgrace, once again experienced the love and warmth of the world. Memories are no longer a burden to life, smile and raise the sails of life again, life is always a beautiful spring. Life is impermanent, cherish everything you have at the moment!

Part II of the classic prose describing the Qingming Festival

Qingming Festival, I did not know that this festival, which has been passed down for more than two and a half thousand years, is so solemn. Even if you have traveled far away, or wandering out of the prodigal son, in this day, we must find ways for the deceased loved ones, burn a stack of paper money. Even if you can't go back to the country to burn on the grave, but the pile of incinerated ashes is still the main point.

I remember that the drizzle over the spring days, early in the morning, my father bought back a lot of rough yellow straw paper, and some with paper paste robes and coats, ready to go to the grave. Father first burned paper meticulously cut, and then from right to left, from top to bottom of the paper chisel knocked one by one. With the thumping sound, rows of hemp money with holes through them appeared on the yellow straw paper. People in the countryside call this playing paper. My father beat the paper reverently, as if he wanted to incorporate all his regrets and long-cherished wishes for his forefathers into the burning paper. As the sun climbs higher, the sound of beating paper resonates in the village, the unhurried sound like a temple monk knocking on a wooden fish like firmness, but also like an old woman spinning a continuous thread. After a long time, this sound gradually cooled down, and a road outside the village, they will come to a head wearing a mourning cloth hand burning paper woman, both hobbling crone and new out of a short time of small daughter-in-law, they are back to their parents' home to sweep the graves.

My father waited for his sister, my aunt, to finish the paperwork. The first time I saw her was when the sun crossed the treetops, and she always appeared in front of the courtyard in a clean blue dress. Because the unmarried girls in the family were not allowed to go to the cemetery, while the boys had to go. So we four brothers and sisters followed our aunt and father slowly out of the village. We all walked very slowly, lest we disturb the spring time.

It was hard to get to the cemetery, which is far away from the village. The bun-like graves were one after another, and from the order of connection, you could see the order of the deceased in the village. Grandpa and Grandma were separated by a hundred meters. The graves without monuments, spring all kinds of weeds once again occupy their blank, so that these dead life once again pale.

My father first pressed a piece of paper to the top of my grandfather's grave, then drew a circle in front of the grave, then fluffed up the pile of burnt paper and finally lit it. After kowtowing to the three heads, we will guard the fire burning, while the aunt is sitting on the side of the grandfather's grave, with a handkerchief to cover the nose to let go of the voice and cry. At that time, I did not understand, how could not understand, why a moment ago still calm face aunt all of a sudden cried, and a nose sobbed a tear, crying the liver and intestines broken. The cry is high and low, a long and a short, while pouring out the book business spirit of the grandfather's innocence, but was wrongly categorized components, by all the townspeople oppression, melancholy and death. While pouring out his heart of nostalgia and adhere to the grandfather's teachings, insisting on innocence, so that the father standing in front of the grave to guard and us, not a moment will be tears bar bar bar out. And around them also floated near and far the sound of crying, a race like a, seem to see who cried more sad. After crying for a while, my father said, "Quickly go to help your aunt to go, let less cry. We rushed forward, pulling the aunt's arm, persuading her to stop crying. And she stopped crying at the right moment. The first time I saw this was when I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley, and the second time I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley, and the third time I was a student at the University of California, Berkeley. The father and aunt, who once insisted on being clean, have been dead for more than ten years, and they have finally come to the corner of their lives, disappearing in the vast years after how many human sufferings they have gone through.

Spring is still in full bloom, fine sunshine sprinkled all over the countryside, the air is clear and not a pinch of dust, the bright and clean four fields through the vitality. My sister and I continue to walk in the father and aunt walked on the road to the grave, followed by our two nephews as in the year I, like a horse running forward and back. Looking at the roadside to let go of the pace of flurry of grass and trees, my thoughts also followed the crazy growth. I think the light and wise Qingming is not only ancestor, sweep the tomb, nostalgia for the dead so simple, it is more let me in the materialistic dash, red dust rolling lifetime, always remember life clean and clear, rooted in the homeland soul fiber dust.

Part III describes the classic prose of Qingming Festival

Qingming Festival is a day for us to remember our ancestors; Qingming Festival is a festival shrouded in smoky rain. Under the piece of rain, what is hidden is people's faint sorrow and deep nostalgia and reverence for the martyrs.

Qingming Festival, let people remember the ancestors, let people stay, let people lament, let people cheer up, which contains many of the ancestors of the deeds, when they are in the ground for peace, their own story on the end, the rest, there is only let people miss!

Dear revolutionary martyrs, you use your youth and life for national liberation and the heroic struggle of the glorious achievements of our admiration; you leave the descendants of the noble spirit of the nation is the Chinese nation's valuable spiritual wealth, it will always inspire us to forge ahead, upward; you sowed the seeds of thought, has taken root in our hearts, sprouting, and become a leading us towards a better tomorrow ` banner.

Beloved martyrs of the revolution, at this moment, we just want to use a small flower to send our condolences, we just want to use a wreath to show our heart, we just want to use a stone monument to express our admiration. However, we understand more, the way is only one, that is: to inherit your will, carry forward your spirit, so that our tomorrow more brilliant, so that our motherland more rich and strong.

"The saffron is mercilessly laughing at the east wind, and the green hills are fortunate to bury the loyal bones." Beloved martyrs of the revolution, you died for the benefit of the people, your death is heavier than Mount Taishan, you are with the green mountains, you live forever with the earth. You will always be a monument in our hearts. Rest in peace, beloved martyrs of the revolution, your spirit lives on! You will always live in our hearts!

Ideas will always be high, the soul will never fall on their knees, the pace will always be firm, this is the face of the martyrs of our solemn oath. We will be worthy of the great era, we will move forward!

Part IV describes the Qingming Festival of classic prose