奶奶的粽香的抒情散文（奶奶的粽子作文800字）

2025-08-11 08:23:31 | 人围观 | 评论:

奶奶的粽香的抒情散文

opening the oven, the scent of smoke filled the air, revealing a heap of green cookies. i gently unwrapped their envelopes, the strong, familiar smell of something entered my nose, filling me with a warm, haunting memory...

when i was a child, my parents' absence had become a factor in my life. i had spent years trying to find that special thing — that time for me and my mother when we lived together for six years, when the sweet scent of端午 was alive in our house.

my hands were trembling as i opened the door to the kitchen. i had seen enough about cooking粽子 to not even be so excited — but it couldn't have been any easier than that. i'd watched the parents carefully cook until they were young, but it wasn't just them; i had seen their faces from mother to daughter.

the cookies in my hand were small but precise. each was a perfect package of green chocolate, wrapped neatly into golden brown dough. i started peeling the wrapper, and found myself surrounded by the fragrant scent of fresh flowers — like the breeze blowing through my window.

when i began baking, i felt the weight of my hands on my chest. as cookies began to appear, i had seen myself in a very different light: a child whose mother used to cook like this, her eyes a warm fire burning across my belly.

the cookies were ready to be taken out of the oven when they hit a certain speed — that moment wasn't just about me; it was about our family. i ate them with a bite of rice, and I thought myself in an instant a parent again: mother cooking so hard for us, always on schedule, always doing what she had to do.

when my mother died, the cookies in the oven were already ready — five dozen of them. i took them out to the counter, and when they began to rise, the smell was so strong that I could sense the weight of a family — a mother cooking hard for us, her eyes glowing with love as she baked me every morning.

the cookies are familiar, the scent is still fresh, but it's not just about my mom; it's also about my family. i ate them with a mouthful of rice, and I thought myself in a very different light: a child whose mother had always been so strong — like a family member, like a part of me.

the cookies are gone — the oven was empty. they were all eaten before i could even get to the microwave. on a warm day, when the sun is shining down on our house, my mouth watered for hours as I ate them with a bite of rice and a spoonful of broth. every cookie was like a family member: mother cooking hard, her eyes glowing with love, always in the kitchen.

the cookies are familiar again — the same scent that was already there before my mom died. i ate them one last time, this time without stopping to think about where I was. as the bowl of rice filled up and the smell of soup began to fill my air, it made me understand why I loved these cookies so much: not just them, but my family.

the cookie's scent is still strong in my heart, a reminder that even when you don't know your mom, there are always people who love you.

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奶奶的粽香的抒情散文（奶奶的粽子作文800字）

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