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Memories of the Beautiful Camellia Flower in My Hometown |
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When I was little, there was a camellia tree planted in front of my house. Every
year in March, the camellia would bloom small and delicate flowers, each the
size of a soybean, which I would curiously touch and play with. The buds blushed
red as if they were shy and some had just begun to bloom, with tender and
slippery petals that resembled newborn babies. As time passed, the buds opened
up into fully bloomed flowers, with sparkling dew drops on their petals and
colorful butterflies perching on them. I had never seen such a magnificent sight
before and was overjoyed, singing and dancing around the camellia tree.
From then on, I looked forward to the camellia's blooming every year, but at the
age of six, I moved away from my hometown to a new city and never saw the
camellia bloom again. My new surroundings were disappointing; the roads were
asphalt, and I couldn't smell the fragrance of soil, the water was polluted, and
I couldn't see any fish swimming in it. The flowers here were not fragrant at
all and smelled of pesticides.
I missed the camellia tree in my hometown and its people, but I could hardly
remember what they looked like. I cried and threw tantrums until my parents took
me to see the camellia flowers in the new city, but it was not the same.
Although the flowers were fragrant and had different colors, they lacked the
natural beauty and simplicity that I loved.
The flowers in my hometown were the most beautiful and fragrant. I wondered if
there were any flowers in this new city that could match them.
Last year, I finally returned to my hometown in March, and the camellia tree was
still there, more robust and radiant than ever before. As I gazed at its
flowers, my heart was filled with happiness and contentment. Finally, I saw what
I had been thinking and yearning for. |
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