【作文】小学生读《我最喜欢的季节》读后感400字：四季各有各的美

春天不必向冬天解释

上周五的语文练习卷上有一篇短文，题目就叫《我最喜欢的季节》。作者写他喜欢冬天，说冬天的早晨呵气成霜，屋檐下的冰凌像一排挂着的笛子。我在旁边读，心里咯噔一下：原来真有人把冬天写成好东西。我从前从不敢说我最喜欢冬天，班里一半人说夏天，三分之一人说春天，我说冬天，他们就说冬天有什么好，冷死了。

那篇短文里有一句我拿铅笔划了线：春天不必向冬天解释自己，冬天也不必向春天道歉。划完这句话我想了很久。我们班的季节之争，其实就是每个人都在替自己的季节解释。说夏天的人举出西瓜和暑假，说春天的人举出风筝，好像季节要上擂台，赢的那个才有资格被喜欢。可作者不比赛。他写冬天的霜，也承认春天的花好看，他说四季各有各的美，谁也不必说服谁。

我最喜欢冬天，这件事我藏了两年。其实我的理由一点不少：雪落在操场上的那种安静，围巾把半张脸埋进去的暖和，还有过年时一家人围着炉子剥花生。以前这些理由我只敢在心里说。读完那篇短文，我在周末的饭桌上说出来，爸爸说他小时候也最喜欢冬天，雪天能走十几里路不觉得冷。妈妈笑我们爷俩，但她没说我错。

这周轮到我坐第一排，早读前窗外下起小雪，后排有人小声说冬天来了。我听见有人说冷死了，也有人说，雪挺好看的。两种声音都在，谁也没说服谁。我忽然想起那句话，春天不必向冬天解释。喜欢一个季节，就像喜欢一种颜色、一道菜，不需要打赢别人。四季各有各的美，人也各有各的喜欢，这件事本来就不需要擂台。

那张练习卷我留在文具盒里，划线的那一句朝上。每次翻开，我都再想起一遍：把喜欢的理由说出口，不需要勇气，只需要明白一个道理——美不是一场要赢的比赛。

Spring Need Not Explain Itself to Winter

On the Chinese practice paper of last Friday there was a short passage titled My Favourite Season. The author wrote that he liked winter: on winter mornings your breath turns to frost, and the icicles under the eaves hang like a row of flutes. Reading beside it, my heart gave a jump - so someone really does write winter up as a good thing. Before that I never dared say winter was my favourite. Half the class said summer, a third said spring, and if I said winter they answered what is good about winter, it is freezing.

One sentence in that passage I underlined with my pencil: spring need not explain itself to winter, and winter need not apologise to spring. I thought a long time after drawing that line. The season quarrels in our class are really each person explaining on behalf of their season. Summer people hold up watermelon and summer holiday; spring people hold up kites, as if the seasons had to enter a ring and only the winner earned the right to be liked. But the author does not compete. He writes the frost of winter and admits the flowers of spring are lovely too. He says each season has its own beauty, and nobody has to convince anybody.

I have hidden my love of winter for two years. My reasons are actually plenty: the silence of snow falling on the playground, the warmth of burying half a face in a scarf, and shelling peanuts with the whole family around the stove at New Year. Before, those reasons stayed inside my head. After reading that passage I said them out loud at Sunday dinner. Father said he too liked winter best as a child, able to walk ten kilometres through snow without feeling the cold. Mother laughed at us two, but she did not say I was wrong.

This week I sit in the front row. Before morning reading, light snow began outside the window, and someone in the back row whispered that winter is here. I heard one voice say freezing, and another say the snow is quite pretty. Both voices are there, and neither convinced the other. I suddenly remembered that sentence: spring need not explain itself to winter. Liking a season is like liking a colour or a dish; you do not have to beat anyone. Each season has its own beauty, and each person has their own liking - this was never a contest to win.

I keep that practice paper in my pencil case, the underlined sentence facing up. Every time I open it, I remember once more: saying your reasons out loud takes no courage, only one understanding - beauty is not a match you have to win.

我把四季装进了观察本

图书角那本《我最喜欢的季节》我借了两个星期。文章里写作者蹲下来看春天第一朵迎春花，趴在窗台看冬天的雪把对面屋顶盖平。读的时候我想，他写的这些，我好像也在身边见过，只是从来没认真看过。

书里有一段讲夏天，说雷阵雨之前空气是闷的，蜻蜓低低地贴着水面飞，雨点砸在青石板上会蹦起小坑。读到这里我合上书想了想，想起去年六月我们在外婆家躲雨，外婆喊收凳子，我抱着两条凳子往屋里跑，鞋里灌了水。原来书里写的雨，和我抱凳子跑过的那场雨，是同一种雨。它落在我身上过，只是我不认识它。

我买了一本观察本，决定把四季装进去。三月初，校园围墙外的柳树冒芽，我在本子上画了一个小绿点，写：柳芽比米粒小，摸上去软。六月的一个傍晚真的来了雷阵雨，我站在阳台上看蜻蜓，看雨点在地砖上蹦坑，回来写了两行。九月的第一片落叶是梧桐叶，扫地的爷爷把它夹进垃圾桶边的废报纸里，我看见了，在本子上写：叶子落了，有人替它收着。十二月的早晨我呵了一口气在窗上，画了一个小圆圈。

观察本写到第四页，我发现一件事：我原来最喜欢夏天，因为观察本里夏天的页数最多。可冬天那几页我也翻得最勤，霜、冰凌、呵出的白气，一样都没落下。书里说四季各有各的美，我以前只当是一句话，现在它是我本子上的四摞页码。

语文课上老师问读后感怎么写才算不只会复述，我举手说了我的观察本。我说那篇文章教我的不是哪一句好词好句，是一个动作：蹲下来，看。喜欢的季节不用背出来，用一天一天亲眼看见，它就自己站住了。老师把我的话写在黑板侧边，那节课后，图书角的借阅登记本上，《我最喜欢的季节》的名字后面多了七个名字。

I Put the Four Seasons in an Observation Notebook

I borrowed the book My Favourite Season from the reading corner for two weeks. In it the author squats to look at the first winter jasmine of spring, and leans on the windowsill to watch winter snow flatten the roof across the street. While reading I thought: the things he writes, I seem to have seen around me too - I simply never looked closely.

One passage describes summer: before a thunderstorm the air turns stuffy, dragonflies skim low over the water, and raindrops punch little craters on the flagstones. I closed the book and remembered last June, sheltering from rain at the house of my grandmother, her shouting to carry in the stools, me running indoors holding two stools, water sloshing into my shoes. So the rain in the book and the rain I once ran through holding stools are the same rain. It had fallen on me; I just did not recognise it.

I bought an observation notebook and decided to put the four seasons inside it. In early March the willows outside the school wall budded; I drew a small green dot and wrote: willow buds are smaller than rice grains, soft to touch. On one evening in June a thunderstorm really came; I stood on the balcony watching dragonflies and raindrops denting the tiles, then wrote two lines when I went in. The first fallen leaf of September was a plane-tree leaf; the old man sweeping tucked it into waste newspaper beside the bin. I saw that and wrote: the leaf has fallen, and someone is keeping it safe. On a December morning I breathed on the window and drew a small circle in the mist.

By the fourth page of the notebook I noticed something: I used to think I liked summer best, because summer fills the most pages. Yet I flip through the winter pages most often too - frost, icicles, white breath, not one missed. The book says each season has its own beauty. I used to treat that as just a sentence; now it is four stacks of page numbers in my notebook.

In Chinese class the teacher asked what makes a reading response more than a retelling. I raised my hand and talked about my observation notebook. I said that article taught me not some fine phrase but one movement: squat down and look. A favourite season does not need reciting; see it with your own eyes day by day, and it stands firm by itself. The teacher wrote my words on the side of the blackboard. After that lesson, seven more names appeared after the title My Favourite Season in the lending log of the reading corner.