At the campfire

At the campfire

In the past summer holidays, I rested in the camp, in Solotche. Not far from this place there is a full-flowing and beautiful river Oka. One summer evening the whole detachment was corrected there.

After looking for a place to sleep, we decided to stop. It turned out to be really comfortable and beautiful. Somewhere far away he shouted, as if he had beaten a silver hammer and quail. Later, deep silence was established. Only rarely did the frog croak out of the water.

We stretched out the tent and began to collect everything that could serve to sustain the fire: slivers, dry brushwood, reeds. They made a fireplace and installed a flyer, on which they hung a pot of water to make soup. For a long time a small light burned in small blue streams. A few minutes later he flashed a bright red flame. Scarlet tapes were poured around a suspended pot of water. How nice after a long transition to sit by the fire! Around him is another world, a special life. Smoke from the fire tickles his nostrils, turns his head. It is interesting to look at the blue flame and on the red-hot coals. At a fire it is pleasant to talk with girlfriends and to listen to interesting stories which will not be read in any book. Time passes quickly. Baked potatoes are particularly tasty and fragrant. You toss it, burning yourself, from palm to palm, but at the very saliva flow. We also drank delicious tea, saturated with haze. Such a delicious earlier did not try!

The flame of the fire unites people. We talked a lot about nature, about the beauty of the Meshchersky region. All was well.

The fire burned out. Below, in the middle of it, large glowing coals glowed silently. Then they were covered with a thin layer of ash. Our conversation has long been over, and fatigue

I took mine: almost all of them slept. And for a long time I could not sleep: I was overwhelmed with unusual impressions.


At the campfire