文摘：秋日的私语

文摘：秋日的私语（精选6篇）

文摘：秋日的私语 篇1

温暖可爱的夏天转瞬即逝，因此夏秋交换之际，人们往往倍感惆怅。本文作者无奈看着夏日离去的世界，突然发现了芹菜之美，足以抵消夏日远去之痛。

LAST night the waiter put the celery on with the cheese, and I knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn there may be―the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the misty evenings―but none of these comes home to me so truly. There may be cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the leaves may change before their time; it is only with the first celery that summer is over.

I knew all along that it would not last. Even in April I was saying that winter would soon be here. Yet somehow it had begun to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer might drift on and on through the months―a final upheaval to crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that. Last night with the celery autumn came into its own.

There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of heat. It crackles pleasantly in the mouth. Moreover it is excellent, I am told, for the complexion. One is always hearing of things which are good for the complexion, but there is no doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that celery should be there at one’s elbow.

A week ago―(“A little more cheese, waiter”)―a week ago I grieved for the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly bear the waiting―the eight long months till May. In vain to comfort myself with the thought that I could get through more work in the winter undistracted by thoughts of cricket grounds and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that I could stay in bed later in the mornings. Even the thought of after-breakfast pipes in front of the fire left me cold. But now, suddenly, I am reconciled to autumn. I see quite clearly that all good things must come to an end. The summer has been splendid, but it has lasted long enough. This morning I welcomed the chill in the air; this morning I viewed the falling leaves with cheerfulness; and this morning I said to myself, “Why, of course, I’ll have celery for lunch.” (“More bread, waiter.”)

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” said Keats, not actually picking out celery in so many words, but plainly including it in the general blessings of the autumn. Yet what an opportunity he missed by not concentrating on that precious root. Apples, grapes, nuts, and vegetable marrows he mentions specially―and how poor a selection! For apples and grapes are not typical of any month, so ubiquitous are they, vegetable marrows are vegetables pour rire and have no place in any serious consideration of the seasons, while as for nuts, have we not a national song which asserts distinctly, “Here we go gathering nuts in May”? Season of mists and mellow celery, then let it be. A pat of butter underneath the bough, a wedge of cheese, a loaf of bread and―Thou.

How delicate are the tender shoots unfolded layer by layer. Of what a whiteness is the last baby one of all, of what a sweetness his flavor. It is well that this should be the last rite of the meal―finis coronat opus―so that we may go straight on to the business of the pipe. Celery demands a pipe rather than a cigar, and it can be eaten better in an inn or a London tavern than in the home. Yes, and it should be eaten alone, for it is the only food which one really wants to hear oneself eat. Besides, in company one may have to consider the wants of others. Celery is not a thing to share with any man. Alone in your country inn you may call for the celery; but if you are wise you will see than no other traveler wanders into the room, Take warning from one who has learnt a lesson. One day I lunched alone at an inn, finishing with cheese and celery. Another traveler came in and lunched too. We did not speak―I was busy with my celery. From the other end of the table he reached across for the cheese. That was all right! it was the public cheese. But he also reached across for the celery―my private celery for which I owed. Foolishly―you know how one does―I had left the sweetest and crispest shoots till the last, tantalizing myself pleasantly with the thought of them. Horror! to see them snatched from me by a stranger. He realized later what he had done and apologized, but of what good is an apology in such circumstances? Yet at least the tragedy was not without its value. Now one remembers to lock the door.

Yet, I can face the winter with calm. I suppose I had forgotten what it was really like. I had been thinking of the winter as a horrid wet, dreary time fit only for professional football. Now I can see other things―crisp and sparkling days, long pleasant evenings, cheery fires. Good work shall be done this winter. Life shall be lived well. The end of the summer is not the end of the world. Here’s to October―and, waiter, some more celery.

文摘：秋日的私语 篇2

早上, 看窗外, 雾气腾腾的, 我便迈开步子去了公园, 主要想去看看那些落叶, 感受一下秋天。很多年, 我时常喜欢在清晨里, 携上我的mp3, 出门去溜达。我居住的这所小屋, 距离百脉泉公园、桃花山、体育场都很近, 我可以在不算早的时候出门, 但仍能在上班之前, 回到居所, 不误上班。公园的门口, 常常有卖各种早餐的摊点, 价格便宜, 而且味道不错, 我尤其喜欢那个卖小酥饼的大姐, 很淳朴, 里里外外透着那份乡土的气息。

刚刚还很寂寥的街道, 此时便开始车水马龙起来, 装扮各样的人们, 行色匆匆。我看着人们匆匆的脚步, 很感慨, 起码我比别人多了一个清爽的早晨, 一份宁静的心情。

百脉泉, 虽然没有南方的水域那般委婉可人, 但在这个钢筋水泥的小城里, 也是一样的清秀。从春夏到秋冬, 我走遍了她的每一个角落, 或漫步, 或一路小跑, 或者伸伸胳膊腿儿, 在清晨的这个时候, 做什么, 都会很惬意……我知道, 每每我的脚步里带着些许稚气, 孩童般的步伐轻盈, 有着孩童般的梦境……虽然, 如今已不能把自己罗列为少女, 但仿佛那份心境也并不遥远……

在少女的日子里, 我喜欢捡起一枚落叶, 小心翼翼的夹在书本里。闲暇的、不想读书的时刻, 便取出来把玩, 看它如何慢慢的瘦了躯体, 褪了色彩。上学的时候, 我很顽皮, 经常在自习课上, 瞅老师不注意, 就敏捷地从后窗跳出去, 猫着腰, 跑到教室后面的那片丛林里去读书。那里是一片白杨林, 一枚一枚的发了黄的落叶从高空轻轻的飘落下来, 着陆到地面上。而我就席地而坐, 捧着书本, 竟然也很入境, 以至于语文老师突然站到我跟前, 还都浑然不觉。他往往会语重心长且委婉的, 重复那永久的不变的话题:“你能学进去吗?能有效果吗?”……

听着理查德·克莱德曼的这首《秋日私语》, 漫步在龙泉周遭的岸上, 想起了许多的往事……现在, 地上满是落叶缤纷, 我真的不知该捡起哪一枚, 因为在我的眼里, 哪一片也足够美, 足够勾勒出秋的韵致……我想, 这一片片的树叶, 在生命中唯一的一次飞行到来的时候, 在脱离母体的一刻, 它们是平静的、快乐的……它们终究会融入泥土的芬芳里, 去诠释它的一生……

我喜欢静静的立在树前, 看树叶从树上飘荡下来的弧线, 很美, 我从来不觉得看到树叶会哀伤, 我喜欢它们。有人看到落叶, 看到秋, 是会愁的, 人随秋瘦, 而我从来不会。我喜欢秋天, 喜欢秋天的树, 抖落了一地的落叶, 便一身轻松, 没有啰嗦的叮咛, 释怀了一个季节的思绪……我想, 人, 在适当的时候, 也应该抖落些什么, 获得那份淡然与宁静……在秋日里, 我没有感到丝毫的沧桑, 倒是有“欲说还休”之感……

秋日的私语 篇3

是从什么时候开始感受到秋天的气息了呢？是清晨出门，双臂的一丝微凉？还是傍晚回家，背后的落寞霞光？抑或是现在，本该十分喧闹的窗外，忽然如夜晚一般安静？

静下来，便听到了钟表的“嚓、嚓”声。那原本微弱到被忽略的声音，在此刻听起来竟是那样的清晰和响亮。“嚓、嚓、嚓、嚓”，一步一步精准而坚定，似乎是在提醒我，时间正一点一点地从我的生命里走过。

风静静地从窗口飘了进来，有一些微凉。呼吸之间，心里最柔软的地方，泛起了一点淡淡的心酸。我不由地想起了那些擦肩而过的人和风景。

其实，人的一生也只是一个四季的更替，辛辛苦苦、忙忙碌碌地走了几十年，也只不过是从春花烂漫走进了皑皑白雪，然后静静地涅■，等待着下一个四季的轮回。

“嚓、嚓、嚓、嚓”，时间的年轮在一点点增多，可是我却欣喜地发现，穿越了年少的调皮、青春的明媚、成长的疼痛，以及些许成年的落寞之后，我依然拥有一颗健康的、乐观的心。它依然愿意用好奇的手指掀开明天的面纱，依然愿意用感恩的掌心捧起昨天的过往。那些注定无法挽留的美好，以及不得不经历的忧伤，都在热情地告诉我：“你正在真实地、丰富地、认真地、用力地活着，并且还要继续这样活下去。”鲍尔吉·原野说：“初秋并不是丰收的时候，初秋所做的事情是定型，让一切可以称为果实的东西由不确定变得确定，由浆变成粉，由稚嫩变得坚硬。人也如此，一个叫做‘青春’的东西已经逝去了多年，双脚正往晚秋行走，此时还没沉淀、没雏形、没味道、没形态，有什么收获可言呢？”

耳边忽然响起了熟悉的旋律，那是邻家小孩弹奏的《秋日的私语》。琴音叮咚，带着孩子气的稚嫩，不太熟练的样子，却能够穿透墙壁和肌肤，直接钻进我的心里。我看到那些不曾褪色的记忆，正在稚嫩的琴声里慢慢地沉淀。

秋日私语的优美散文 篇4

阳光透过略带苍白的天空，于炙热的大地上涂抹了斑斑水墨。未打太阳伞的我，独自走在路上，感受这初秋的温度，依然如夏。

抬望眼，刺眼的光顿时穿透了我的遐思，米色雪纺下一袭深蓝色长裙，几乎遮掩了已匆匆而逝的青春年华。而成熟，便在这个初秋上演……

路边的白桦树，如层叠有致的大伞，为我们带来了丝丝清凉。有落叶飘飘落下，拂过我的裙摆，又随风远去。我捕捉着这瞬间的灵动，感受生命沧桑的味道，品味生命安息的.宁静。

我跟这个季节握手，拂耳私语，静心描绘我心中的千般感怀，万般感触。生命飘忽而来又飘忽而去，仿佛一瞬间，便穿透了尘世间的喜怒哀乐，带着未朽的灵魂远逝……

我静静地在路上走着，林荫渐斜，阳光已不再那么炙热，天空的苍白褪去，一方蓝幕万里晴空。绿荫浓碧，初秋花落凉满心，夕阳西下霜满天。淡淡凉意袭来，亦有淡淡惆怅跃上心头。

“树树皆秋色，山山唯落晖。”远处的山，在初秋的暮色中落满了余晖，更显的妩媚动人。听着鸟儿清脆的啁啾声，我的心情忽然变得明快而清透

长裙在微风中涟漪出了一个个美丽的弧度，身体在亦是风中穿透岁月的清凉，再次令人心旷神怡，想来，这便是初秋的馈赠吧。及至到了中秋或深秋，或许我们就不会有如此明快的心情了。

梧桐叶落，慨然知秋。杨柳萎黄月中疏影，溪水缓降，黄叶飘零。我在内心描绘了一副初秋剪影，如月色般静静流淌在心田……人生，若是与美丽时时共存，内心，该是怎样一副恬静而动人的水墨？！

人至中年，就如这初秋的景色，虽一片欣欣向荣，却总是掩不住那份沧桑和寂寥。因为，秋色渐浓，总是要陨去的，不是吗？

逝去的岁月，赋予了我明亮而不刺眼的光辉，却总是心无所归。那些熟悉的人，那些当年同甘共苦的同窗，那些擦肩而过的人群，那故乡的童年……都如一场梦无痕迹，在我的人生中，已经遥不可及。

或许，我们不该强求什么，或许应该一切随缘，可是，每当夕阳落晚，每当午夜梦回，那一幕幕，为什么还如此清晰的映入脑海？

星月两分泪两行，时值初秋思故园。故乡，是我的魂，是我的梦。思念故乡，便是思念自己的童年。我在时光深处，轻拈你的容颜。原来，心归处，不仅仅是生命中的过客，更是那魂牵梦萦的故乡。

童年，变成我指间苍凉的回忆，用眼泪凝成的一部忧伤的童话，童话里的灰姑娘最终嫁给了白马王子，丑小鸭最终变成了白天鹅，而旧时光，就这么轻易地溜走了，它离我们越来越远，越来越模糊，最终便成了一个遥不可及的梦……

秋日私语经典散文 篇5

我是一个粗旷的男人，等待这个季节，是等一次邂逅枫林，还是来一次凤凰树下的偶遇？记得，不远处开得正艳的紫薇花，那里有一张我坐过的沧桑的木床。

闭着眼睛，牵扯一缕秋的暖阳，坐在紫竹林中的秋千，听小麻雀“叽叽喳喳”对着荷塘，咏了一曲秋日私语。

听风吹过，“沙沙沙沙”，尖尖的叶子伴着夕阳，流淌一地秋的萧瑟，和旋转落下的时针，投进黑土的怀抱，亲吻泥土的芬芳。

我是一个粗旷的男人，傻傻看着河滩渐已白发的芦花，一朵朵花絮随风飘散，有的飘到树上，有些落入水中，有些缠上了秋草的枝叶，有的落满了岁月的衣裳。秋铃儿声声响，不知道是芦花，还是蒲公英的种子，奔向了远方！

我是一个粗旷的男人，却还是掩不住的羞涩，红了脸膛，那一叶心形纸叠的飞机，飞越了相思，飞越了惆怅，吻着希望的种子，落下秋的泪行，把爱，掩埋在枫树下，梦一阙，等一场，春和远方……

那些叶儿，花儿，想完美地离开，等风，等雨，等季节的伤。不知道秋去冬来春花开，还有没有重复今秋离别的伤？

我是一个粗旷的男人，听到有人说过：花儿泼墨，绚烂了夏；落叶题词，静美了秋。这句话很美，但秋不是静的。你听：秋虫儿呢喃，青蛙呱噪，鹭鸟鸣唱，大雁高吭。有雨滴窗檐，风过竹林，有水流潺潺，浪拍堤岸，无不是合奏，无不是送别季节的吟唱……

一片片落叶，就是一张张流年泛黄的旧纸张，写满了不舍，涂满了苍凉，随着风的舞动，扑进溶解生命的温床，转过头来，生命的意义，只是秋梦一场。

我是一个粗旷的男人，这个夜，只想携着月色，品一壶清茶，让浅秋的风月留一缕感动，温一抹初桂的幽香。

无奈叶落的夜晚总是被寂寞遮住，只剩下黑，只留下惆怅。总在默默寻找季节缝隙里，遗落的旧时光。

秋日私语 篇6

“沙沙沙，沙沙沙”秋风唱着悦耳的歌声向我们走来。“扑”一片树叶在空中跳了一段优美的舞蹈，落到了池塘里，仿佛在对小鱼说：“小鱼，小鱼，冬天快要来了，你可得多找点吃的，为了冬眠啊！”“哗”一大片树叶落到了草地上，好像在对小草说：“小草地，我来做你冬天的棉袄吧！”“叮”又一树叶落到了我的身上，好像在说：“小朋友，冬天很冷，记得要穿加衣服啊。”

秋姑娘来到了公园里。秋天，公园里，各种各样的花都开了，其中，最香的就是桂花了，秋姑娘也想和桂花说说话。

公园里，有几棵茂盛高大的桂花树。看，有的含苞欲放，好像一个个穿着米黄色裙子的女孩，而盛开的桂花宛如一名名亭亭玉立的姑娘；还有一些没全部开放的花朵，如同是用木兰扇遮掩了半边的脸蛋儿。蛋黄色的花蕊像一根根豆芽尖儿，在风摆动中，翩翩起舞。一片片绿叶，犹如翡翠盘，又犹如是一张张上绿色的布料，在绿色翡翠的映衬下，桂花仿佛是一个个精心制作的陶瓷，染上鹅黄色的染料。

“桂花，桂花，你尽情地开吧！”秋姑娘高兴地说。

秋姑娘和桂花聊完了话语，带着满腹的语言她来到了果园。你看，石榴露出了洁白的牙齿，似乎在对我们哈哈大笑；冬枣把自己变成半红半绿的；葡萄散发出了香甜的气味。但我最喜欢的是苹果了，那一个个挂在树上的红苹果，像一个个火红色的灯笼，那白里透红的颜色，就像小姑娘红红的脸蛋，仿佛在说：“小朋友，小朋友，你们尽情地吃水果吧！”