When I open the kaleidoscope of my memory, most of the images I can see are about autumn. In that picture, there is a path through the woods which is covered by cyan cobbles. Maples are planted along the cobbled path. The maple leaves are extremely red, just like a glowing fire. They rustle as the breeze wafts through them, as though to narrate every story in autumn.
When autumn came, the cobbled path was covered by the fallen, flaming maple leaves. My mum held my little chubby hand while walking along this path and told me gently; ‘You should listen to the teacher carefully and do everything that the teacher wants you to do. Also you have to finish your homework on time. Try to be a credit to me.’ but I just replied ‘Yes, mum.’ When the breeze wafted, the flaming maple leaves fluttered in the winds, looking like a group of pure frisking fairies and they also looked like innocent children sitting on swings and playing.
With the sun at mid-day, the sunlight sparkled on the cobbled path through the maple leaves. The whole path was bathed in a warm atmosphere. When autumn came, my mum was waiting for me outside my school. When I saw her, I always opened my arms and scampered to her, looking like an ecstatic dog. When she held my hand and walked along the cobbled path on our way home, I would tell her what had happened at my school, I especially had to tell her the marks I had got in the morning test.
Normally, I would tell her I got four marks. Occasionally, I would tell her I got 2 marks. Then she would fling up my hand as if she was offended, and her face would turn green suddenly, just like a green apple. This formed a striking contrast with the flaming maple leaves. She strode quickly in front of me. Maybe at that time she was thinking my daughter must be very tense because of my anger. She must be thinking she should work harder than ever before just to please me. When I stepped on the fallen, withered maple leaves, they rustled as if they were chuckling and saying naughty child. I listened to the harmonious music which was entirely composed by nature.
When autumn came, after supper, I strolled along the cobbled path with my mum. The sun devoted its last wisp of light to the ground. The whole sky was dyed a crimson red by the charming sunset. The pink clouds varied their shapes at will in the vast sky, just like a willful child. We sat down under an old? luxuriant maple and leaned against its strong trunk. I would tell my mum the story between me and the boy I liked. My mum just lent an attentive ear to me silently, without any word. Then she embraced me tenderly and said, &My pitiful daughter, you must attain your own happiness in the future.*
When the breeze wafted, the fallen, flaming maple leaves swayed in the wind and descended slowly and lightly, just like a girl*s worry.
When autumn came, I took a plane to England. After supper, I became accustomed to sauntering along a path. The path which was near my house was covered by grass. Trees which had flaming leaves as well were planted along the grassy path. I felt this path was very similar to the path in my hometown. When I walked along it, unexpectedly, my feeling was the same as before.
When the breeze caressed my face, that feeling was just like my mum stroking my cheek. I cried because everything had changed, the folk, the environment, and the culture. Then many images of the past came flashing across my mind. I yearned to go back to the past, but I knew it was impossible. I still remembered my mum telling me, &You have grown up. You have to create your own future by yourself. You have to be courageous to accept the reality and challenge the difficulties.’ I stopped crying and pondered my mum’s words. Yes, I should not be scared to stay in an unfamiliar place, the same as before. I should be optimistic to challenge all the difficulties to make my life more wonderful.
When the breeze wafted, the unknown leaves fluttered in the winds as if to say, &Good girl, you must be successful in the future.* then I smiled to myself confidently.
To me, the kaleidoscope of my memory is the most precious thing. It will be the illuminant of my heart forever. And, also, it is the best witness of my growth. All my stories will be collected in it, especially the romantic stories in autumn. I will hide it in the bottom of my heart.
I am waiting for the next autumn