2022英语高中作文例文7.docx

2022英语高中作文关于英语中学作文合集9篇在平平淡淡的学习、工作、生活中，大家或多或少都会接触过作文吧，写作文是培育人们的视察力、联想力、想象力、思索力和记忆力的重要手段。那么，怎么去写作文呢？以下是我为大家收集的英语中学作文9篇，欢迎阅读与保藏。英语中学作文 篇1there were three of them. there were four of us, and april lay on the campsite and on the river, a miture of dawn at a damp etreme and the sun in the leaves at cajole. this was deer lodge on the pine river in ossipee, new hampshire, though the lodge was naught but a foundation remnant in the earth. brother bentleys father, oren, had found this place sometime after the first world war, a foreign affair that had seriously done him no good but he found solitude abounding here. now we were here, post world war ii, post korean war, vietnam war on the brink. so much learned, so much yet to learn.peace then was everywhere about us, in the riot of young leaves, in the spree of bird confusion and chatter, in the struggle of pre-dawn animals for the start of a new day, a cooper hawk that had smashed down through trees for a squealing rabbit, yap of a fo at a youngster, a skunk at rooting.we had pitched camp in the near darkness, ed leblanc, brother bentley, walter ruszkowski, myself. a dozen or more years we had been here, and seen no one. now, into our campsite deep in the forest, so deep that at times we had to rebuild sections of narrow road (more a loggers path) flushed out by earlier rains, deep enough where we thought wed again have no traffic, came a growling engine, an old solid body van, a chevy, the kind i had driven for frankie pike and the lobster pound in lynn delivering lobsters throughout the merrimack valley. it had pre-ww ii high fenders, a faded black paint on a body youd swear had been hammered out of corrugated steel, and an engine that made sounds too angry and too early for the start of day. two elderly men, we supposed in their seventies, sat the front seat; felt hats at the slouch and decorated with an assortment of tied flies like a miniature bandoleer of ammunition on the band. they could have been conscripts for emilano zappata, so loaded their hats and their vests as they climbed out of the truck."mornin, been yet?" one of them said as he pulled his boots up from the folds at his knees, the tops of them as wide as a big mouth bass coming up from the bottom for a frog sitting on a lily pad. his hands were large, the fingers long and i could picture them in a shop barn working a primal plane across the face of a maple board. custom-made, old elegance, those hands said."barely had coffee," ed leblanc said, the most vocal of the four of us, quickest at friendship, at shaking hands. "weve got a whole pot almost. have what you want." the pot was pointed out sitting on a hunk of grill across the stones of our fire, flames licking lightly at its sides. the pot appeared as if it had been at war, a number of dents scarred it, the handle had evidently been replaced, and if not adjusted against a small rock it would have fallen over for sure. once, a half-hour on the road heading north, noting it missing, wed gone back to get it. when we fished the pine river, coffee was the glue, the morning glue, the late evening glue, even though wed often unearth our beer from a natural cooler in early evening. coffee, camp coffee, has a ritual. it is thick, it is dark, it is potboiled over a squaw-pine fire, it is strong, it is enough to wake the demon in you, stoke last evenings cheese and pepperoni. first man up makes the fire, second man the coffee; but into that pot has to go fresh eggshells to hold the grounds down, give coffee a taste of history, a sense of place. that means at least one egg be cracked open for its shells, usually in the shadows and glimmers of false dawn. i suspect thats where "scrambled eggs" originated, from some camp like ours, settlers rushing west, lumberjacks hungry, hoboes lobbying for breakfast. so, camp coffee has made its way into poems, gatherings, memories, a time and thing not letting go, not being manhandled, not being cast aside."youre early enough for eggs and bacon if you need a start." eddie added, his invitation tossed kindly into the morning air, his smile a match for morning sun, a man of welcomes. "we have hot cakes, kulbassa, home fries, if you want." we have the food of kings if you really want to know. there were nights we sat at his kitchen table at 101 main street, saugus, massachusetts planning the trip, planning each meal, planning the campsite. some menus were founded on a case of beer, a late night, a curse or two on the ride to work when day started."been there aready," the other man said, his weaponry also noted by us, a little more orderly in its presentation, including an old boy scout sash across his chest, the galay of flies in supreme positioning. they were old yankees, in the face and frame the pair of them undoubtedly brothers, staunch, written into early routines, probably had been up at three oclock to get here at this hour. they were taller than we were, no fat on their frames, wide-shouldered, big-handed, barely coming out of their reserve, but fishermen. that fact alone would win any of us over. obviously, theyd been around, a heft of time already accrued.then the pounding came, from inside the truck, as if a tire iron was beating at the sides of the vehicle. it was not a timid banging, not a minor signal. bang! bang! it came, and bang! again. and the voice of authority from some place in space, some regal spot in the universe. "im not sitting here the livelong day whilst you boys gab away." a toothless meshing came in his words, like walter brennan at work in the jail in rio bravo or some such movie."comin, pa," one of them said, the most orderly one, the one with the old scout sash riding him like a bandoleer.they pulled open the back doors of the van, swung them wide, to show his venerable self, ageless, white-bearded, felt hat too loaded with an arsenal of flies, sitting on a white wicker rocker with a rope holding him to a piece of vertical angle iron, the crude kind that could have been on early subways or trolley cars. across his lap he held three delicate fly rods, old as him, thin, bamboo in color, probably too slight for a lakes three-pounder. but on the pine river, upstream or downstream, under alders choking some parts of the rivers flow, at a significant pool where side streams merge and phantom trout hang out their eternal promise, most elegant, fingertip elegant."oh, boy," eddie said at an aside, "theres the boss man, and look at those tools." admiration leaked from his voice.rods were taken from the caring hands, the rope untied, and his venerable self, white wicker rocker and all, was lifted from the truck and set by our campfire. i was willing to bet that my sister pat, the dealer in antiques, would scoop up that rocker if given the slightest chance. the old one looked about the campsite, noted clothes drying from a previous days rain, order of equipment and supplies aligned the way we always kept them, the canvas of our tent taut and true in its epanse, our fishing rods off the ground and placed atop the flyleaf so as not to tempt raccoons with smelly cork handles, no garbage in sight. he nodded.we had passed muster."you the ones leave it cleaner than you find it ever year. we knowed sunthin bout you. never disturbed you afore. but we share the good spots." he looked closely at brother bentley, nodded a kind of recognition. "your daddy ever fish here, son?"brother must have passed through the years in a hurry, remembering his father bringing him here as a boy. "a ways back," brother said in his clipped north saugus fashion, outlander, specific, no waste in his words. old oren bentley, it had been told us, had walked five miles through the unknown woods off route 16 as a boy and had come across the campsite, the remnants of an old lodge, and a great curve in the pine river so that a miles walk in either direction gave you three miles of stream to fish, upstream or downstream. paradise up north.his venerable self nodded again, a man of signals, then said, "knowed him way back some. met him at the iron bridge. we passed a few times." instantly we could see the story. a whole history of encounter was in his words; it marched right through us the way knowledge does, as well as legend. he pointed at the coffeepot. "the boysll be off, but my days down there get cut up some. ill sit a while and take some of thet." he said thet too pronounced, too dramatic, and it was a short time before i knew why.the white wicker rocker went into a slow and deliberate motion, his head nodded again. he spoke to his sons. "you boys be back no moren two-three hours so these fellers can do their things too, and keep the place tidied up."the most orderly son said, "sure, pa. two-three hours." the two elderly sons left the campsite and walked down the path to the banks of the pine river, their boots swishing at thigh line, the most elegant rods pointing the way through scattered limbs, eperience on the move. trout beware, we thought."we been carpenters fever," he said, the clip still in his words. "those boys a mine been some good at it too." his head cocked, he seemed to listen for their departure, the leaves and branches quiet, the murmur of the stream a tinkling idyllic music rising up the banking. old venerable himself moved the wicker rocker forward and back, a small timing taking place. he was hearing things we had not heard yet, the whole symphony all around us. eddie looked at me and nodded his own nod. it said, "im paying attention and i know you are. this is our one encounter with a man who has fished for years the river we love, that we come to twice a year, in may with the mayflies, in june with the black flies." the gift and the scourge, wed often remember, having been both scarred and sewn by it.brother was still at memory, we could tell. silence we thought was heavy about us, but there was so much going on. a bird talked to us from a high limb. a fo called to her young. we were on the pine river once again, nearly a hundred miles from home, in paradise."names roger treadwell. boys are nathan and truett." the introductions had been accounted for.old venerable roger treadwell, carpenter, fly fisherman, rocker, leaned forward and said, "you boys wouldnt have a couple spare beers, would ya?"now thats the way to start the day on the pine river.英语中学作文 篇2The Moon Festival, always celebrated on August 15 of the lunar calendar, is one of the most traditional of Chinese holiday. It is several hundred years old and many beautiful tales about it have been handed down from generation to generation.On this day we eat a special kind of pastry called Moon Cake-it represents the moon and also means family reunion. It has long been a practice in our family to get together for a small moonlight party at the New Park on the evening of August 15.Cousins and some friends sometimes join us. Sitting or lying on the soft grass, some of us chat happily and others listen to music. And amidst shouts and laughter of children chasing around excitedly, I sit quietly at a corner watching the bright, beautiful moon.英语中学作文 篇3When people are not in the mood, they will become angry and when their families or friends talk to them, they will bring their bad mood, saying the bad words to the dearest person.It is not the wise choice for people let out their bad mood, because when they calm down, they will be very regretful for what they have done to their families and friends.Sometimes mean words are just like the sharp knives, stabbing into peoples hearts. So when we get angry, we should learn to control our emotion. We are easily to say out the hurting words, which makes the one we love suffering.Even if we apologize, but the pain still exists, like the broken mirror which cant be fixed totally. So when we are angry, the best way to be silent and dont do stupid things.当人们心情不好，他们会变得生气，在家人和挚友对他们说话的时候，他们会带着坏心情，对最亲近的人说难听的话。这对于人们来说不是发泄坏心情的明智选择，因为当他们冷静下来，就会为自己对家人和挚友所做过的事情懊悔。有时候恶毒的语言就好比尖锐的刀子，捅进人们的新居。所以当我们变得生气了，应当学着去限制心情。我们会很简单就说出伤人的词语，这也使得我们爱的人受伤。即使我们致歉，但是伤痛仍旧在，就好比破镜无法彻底重圆一样。因此当我们生气，最好的方法是保持宁静，不要做愚蠢的事情。英语中学作文 篇4As a child, I am so luck. I dont need toworry about food. I always have enough delicious food, live in a big house, andhave beautiful clothes to dress. I am so happy that I have no idea to treasureall these things.I am a kind of particular about food. I often eat a littlefor one dish and the throw it away, because I have many choices.I will be fullafter eating several dishes. But one day, I watch a piece of news on TV.It isabout some Africa children who are suffering starvation. They are so poor.Theyare not only having no food to eat but also having little water to drink. A bowlof rice is very rare for them.Seeing their longing eyes, I feel guilty. I amregret about wasting food before.How can I waste so much rare food? From nowon, I will try my best to save food, to do something for them.作为一个孩子，我是如此的幸运。我不用担忧食品的问题。我总是有足够的美味食物，住在大房子里面，穿着美丽的衣服。我是如此的华蜜，所以我都没想过要珍惜这一切。我可以说得上是挑食的人。我常常吃一样菜只吃一点点，然后就扔掉了，因为我有许多的选择。吃了几道菜后我就会饱了。但是有一天，我在电视上看到一个新闻。那是关于正在遭遇饥饿的非洲儿童。他们是如此的可怜。他们既没有食物也没有多少水可以喝。一碗白饭对他们是那么的弥足宝贵。看到他们那双渴望的眼睛，我感到很内疚。我很懊悔始终在奢侈食物。我怎么能奢侈那么宝贵的食物呢？从现在起先，我会努力节约粮食，为他们尽一份力。英语中学作文 篇5In Chinese Spring Festival Gala, the song of Where Has the Time Gone became popular.The words are so touching that when people listen to this song, many memories will come out.For our parents generation, they married, raised the kids and then watched them become independent, how time flies.It is just like that they became parents yesterday, and then they become grandparents today.Time flies so fast that they dont realize they are old. I am so thankful to my parents, for they do so many things for me.I want to return their love, so I must become more independent and mature. So that my parents will be less worried about me and can go travel to enjoy their lives. For me, I want to cherish every moment, enjoy my own life and let the time go more slowly.在中国的春节联欢晚会上，歌曲“时间都去哪儿了”很受欢迎。歌词很动人，以至于人们听到歌曲的时候，许多记忆都涌现出来。对于我们父母那一代人来说，他们结婚，生孩子，然后看着孩子独立，时间过得真快啊。一切就如他们昨天成为父母，然后今日就成为了祖父母。时间过的如此的快，他们都没有意识到自己老了。我很感谢父母，因为他们为了做了那么多事情。我想要回报他们的爱，所以我必需变得更加的独立和成熟。这样父母就不用为我操那么多的心，可以去旅游，享受生活。对于我来说，我想要珍惜每一刻，享受我的生活，让时间走得慢些。英语中学作文 篇6the tray didnt just hit the floor. it crashed and smashed his lunch to pieces. serves you damn well right, i thought. you were staring again.he stood stock-still and looked down at the food. suddenly i got up and moved towards him. i hadnt intended to, hadnt wanted to help him. i called to the woman behind the counter. she closed her mouth and brought a cloth to clean up the mess. i picked up crockery, put it on the tray. there was a soppy stain on his trousers and through it you could see just how bony his knees were. like the rest of h