染雾采摘茉莉花高考英语作文 篇一
Jasmine Picking
Jasmine is a popular flower with a sweet fragrance that can make anyone feel refreshed and relaxed. In my hometown, there is a jasmine garden where people can go to pick jasmine flowers. One summer, I decided to visit the garden and experience the joy of jasmine picking.
As I entered the garden, I was immediately greeted by the sweet scent of jasmine. The white flowers were in full bloom, and their delicate petals seemed to dance in the gentle breeze. I was given a small basket and a pair of scissors, and I set out to explore the garden.
Picking jasmine flowers was not as easy as I had imagined. I had to be careful not to damage the delicate petals, and I had to reach for the flowers that were high up on the bushes. But as I got the hang of it, I found myself enjoying the process. The act of picking the flowers felt therapeutic, and the sweet scent of jasmine filled me with a sense of calm and happiness.
After an hour of picking, my basket was full of jasmine flowers. I sat down on a bench and admired my handiwork. The white flowers looked beautiful against the green backdrop of the garden, and their fragrance was intoxicating. I felt a sense of accomplishment and gratitude for the opportunity to experience such a simple yet rewarding activity.
As I left the garden, I took a deep breath and savored the lingering scent of jasmine on my hands. I knew that I would always cherish the memory of the day I spent picking jasmine flowers, and I looked forward to returning to the garden in the future.
Jasmine picking is not just a simple activity; it is a way to connect with nature, appreciate the beauty of flowers, and experience moments of joy and tranquility. I would recommend it to anyone looking for a peaceful and fulfilling experience.
采摘茉莉花高考英语作文 篇二
The Beauty of Jasmine Picking
Jasmine picking is a traditional activity that has been passed down through generations in many cultures. It is not just a simple task of gathering flowers; it is a way to connect with nature, appreciate the beauty of flowers, and experience moments of joy and tranquility.
When you enter a jasmine garden, you are immediately greeted by the sweet scent of jasmine. The white flowers are in full bloom, and their delicate petals seem to dance in the gentle breeze. As you pick the flowers, you have to be careful not to damage the delicate petals and reach for the flowers that are high up on the bushes. But as you get the hang of it, you find yourself enjoying the process. The act of picking the flowers feels therapeutic, and the sweet scent of jasmine fills you with a sense of calm and happiness.
After an hour of picking, your basket is full of jasmine flowers. You sit down on a bench and admire your handiwork. The white flowers look beautiful against the green backdrop of the garden, and their fragrance is intoxicating. You feel a sense of accomplishment and gratitude for the opportunity to experience such a simple yet rewarding activity.
As you leave the garden, you take a deep breath and savor the lingering scent of jasmine on your hands. You know that you will always cherish the memory of the day you spent picking jasmine flowers, and you look forward to returning to the garden in the future.
Jasmine picking is not just a simple activity; it is a way to slow down, appreciate the beauty of nature, and find moments of peace and happiness in a busy world. Take some time to pick jasmine flowers, and you will be rewarded with the beauty and tranquility that only nature can provide.
采摘茉莉花高考英语作文 篇三
采摘茉莉花高考英语作文
the silent young woman in bed number six is called jasmine. so am i, but names are only superficial things, floats bobbing on the surface of the water, and we share deeper connections than that. which is why she fascinates me - why i spend my off-duty time sitting beside her.
today is difficult. the ward heaves with patients and i am kept busy emptying bed-pans, filling out forms, changing dressings. finally, late in the afternoon, i get a few
‘hello, jasmine,’ i say, as if greeting myself.
she does not reply. jasmine never replies. she is down too deep.
like me, she has been sea-damaged. i too am the daughter of a fisherman, so i bait my words like fish-hooks, cast them into her ears, imagine them sinking down through cold, dark water. down to wherever she may be.
‘i have little time today,’ i tell her, touching her hair.
with jasmine, it is always difficult not to touch. she is that rare thing, a truly beautiful woman. because of this, people invent reasons to walk by. i catch them looking, drinking her in, feeding on her. they are barracuda, all of them. wheelchair-pushing porters who slow to a crawl when they near her bed. roaming visitors with greedy eyes. doctors who stop, draw the thin screen of curtain, and continually re-examine that which does not need examination.
great beauty is something jasmine and i do not share. i am glad of it.
‘your father may be here soon,’ i say. ’last week he said he would come.’
jasmine says nothing. her left eyelid flickers, perhaps.
it is two months since the incident on her father’s fishing boat, since she fell overboard, sank, became entangled in the nets. it was some time before anyone noticed, then there was panic. her father hauled her back on board and sailed for home. when he finally arrived, he carried ashore what he thought was his daughter’s body.
‘jasmine,’ i whisper. i want her to take our baited name. i want her to swallow it.
fortunately, there was a doctor in the village that morning, a young man visiting relatives. it was he who brought this drowned woman back from the brink, he who told me her story. she opened her eyes, he said, looked up at her father and spoke a single word - then sank again, this time into coma.
barracuda. that is what jasmine said.
when her father visits, he touches her hair, kisses her cheek, sits in the orange plastic chair at the side of her bed and holds her hand. like my own father, he has the big, brown, life-roughened hands of a fisherman. he too smells of the sea, and pretends he is a good, simple man.
jasmine. we share so much, we are almost one.
i remember early mornings, my hair touched to wake me, my father lifting me half-asleep from my bed, carrying me, dropping me into his boat. his voice rough in my ear, his hands rough on my skin. i never wanted to go, but i was just a child. he did as he wished.
i remember salt water, hot sun, my mother shrinking on the shore. i remember the rocking of the boat, the screams of the gulls.
‘jasmine, you have a life inside you. can’t you hear it calling?’
nothing.
the ward door bangs, and i see jasmine’s father walking towards us, carrying flowers. he smiles at me.
even in death, my own child had my father’s smile, and jasmine’s will have this man’s. i know it.
he stops by her bed and touches her hair. something stirs deep inside me. i watch jasmine’s eyelids, waiting for her to bite.
