As soon as I came to my aunt's house, a beautiful cross-stitch work appeared in front of me: winter came, and the mountain turned white from afar, and Dashan became a calm and serious grandmother. Look, it's "white hair", silent. At the moment, they are holding a mirror-like stream and pool in their arms, the wind is inlaid with bright windows, and a waterfowl is singing, like a child anxiously waiting for his mother who hasn't come home from work. Ah, what a beautiful artistic conception!
"Tong Tong, hair what stay? Come in and sit down! " I smiled at my aunt and continued to look at the photos.
My aunt seemed to see my love and said softly, "Do you want this painting, son?"
I am speechless.
Looking at my mother's side, she doesn't seem to agree to let me accept it, but at this time, the temptation of this painting is stronger than anything else!
I don't care about anything, but I make a voice smaller than a mosquito and say, "OK!" " "In an instant, I was shocked! Only to find that my voice blurted out, I blushed with a brush and didn't dare to look at anyone.
I looked up and took back my "shameless" face and continued to remain silent.
There is a warm current in the air. ...
"If you want, take it. It doesn't matter. I can embroider again. It doesn't matter!" Say that finish, I handed over a beautiful painting in my hand. I hesitated, but I accepted it.
What a surprise!
On the way back, I kept silent. I don't want to talk to my mother, so I'm speechless. Facing the biting cold wind, I can't help but see a picture in my mind: it's late at night, but there is a faint light in my aunt's room. But my aunt is still embroidering cross stitch. I saw her holding a needle and thread in one hand and a cross-stitch shelf in the other, sewing and sewing one by one. And I touch my forehead from time to time, and sweat flows down from her forehead, but my aunt doesn't care at all. She embroidered.
Thought of here, a warm current seems to suddenly fall into the red cloud of happiness in the cold abyss. At the moment, my nose is getting sour, and I want to cry but I can't. There seems to be something strange in my heart, some sweet, some sad, some gentle, some flustered, and I can't tell what it tastes like. ...
Oh, thank you, auntie!