Composition of the native village
And in the morning – white fogs.
The homeland is the place where you were born, where you took your first steps,
I went to school, I found friends of the true and faithful, for example, like me. And this place, where a man became a Man, learned to distinguish bad from good, to do good, to love, where he heard the first kind words and songs…
Each of us also has a “small homeland”. No more expensive than the place where you were born and raised. For me it is my native village.
Here my parents were born, their parents lived here, I was born and I have been living for 15 years. Every day I go through the whole village to school. Every time, passing this way, I see with great sadness half-ruined buildings, destroyed houses, from which only garbage remained. But in our power to make our village more beautiful and better.
When spring comes, forget about all the sorrows associated with the settlement of the village. How wonderful it
And all this, all this beautiful nature is with us, in my dear village. I want to share all this with you, and therefore I invite you to take a walk in our village. I can not ignore our garden. How many beautiful apple trees there are! There are apple-longevity here. But my acquaintances arrived – owls. I consider them the keepers of my dear garden. In the garden you can walk forever, but we are waiting for other wonderful places. On the way are two small ponds. Pisces gaily splashing on the surface of the water, clapping their silvery tails on the water. I want to rest, and I sit down on the beach. Around the usual spring day, with its spring noise. The dragonflies rattle, flying by. Merry butterflies flutter. Among this beauty
Soon we came to the park. In the park there is a monument to the inhabitants of the village, who died during the Great Patriotic War. The price of their lives is our peaceful life today. We, the inhabitants of the village Alexandrovka, this is the only monument, and we must cherish and respect it. I think we need to pay more attention to such historical treasures of the village.
The park is a place where my fellow villagers like to walk. Let’s and we will walk in it. I walk along long trampled paths, raise my eyes and see: tops of poplars close over my head.
And we have a school ahead of us. School… How many wonderful moments of my life are connected to you! All of them can not be listed. I’m sure that the school will meet in the mornings for the rest of the year, and in the evenings it will be boring and waiting for the morning. And the main thing is that the school is the center of our village.
Alexandrovka, indeed, has many beautiful places. And how many of them were before! How would I like to talk about the kindergarten ” Spark ”. Unfortunately, the spark of his life has gone out, but I so much want the spark to turn into a bright flame. After all, this is necessary, as the birth rate in our village increases every year. The inhabitants of the village look at the village club with pain. After all, he is the best in the area of M. Zhumabaev. And so it is important for us, the rural youth, that it work so that the villagers can come after a hard day’s work and relax, chat with their fellow villagers.
How good it is here to breathe! The air is clean, with the bitter wormwood smell of the earth. Earth, which has become native for many decades for my countrymen. For many years of life, all these people have become relatives. These people are very nice, ready at any time to come to the rescue. And kind, sensitive, sympathetic hearts. And how hospitable are my fellow villagers! Go to any house and you will immediately be covered with a beautiful dastarkhan. That’s what people of my “small homeland” are! And what do these people need? After all, they need – then they do not have much: that there was work, wages in time, so that the children studied and were close to their parents. I hope that the President’s Message will contribute to the development of our village for the better. I believe that in the near future the inhabitants of our village will become more. After all, life in the village is getting better. I do not know, maybe it only seems to me. But I believe that the time will come, when everyone will know about my village. I think that rural youth will become the pride of our village.
Our walk ends. Dense twilight had already descended on the street. The village was quiet. I lift my eyes to the sky, and it’s as always fine. The sky of my country. Nowhere in the world is there such a sky as in our village. Good, bottomless, only the moon with its light illuminates the path.
I know that wherever fate casts me, I will forever be bound by invisible threads with my “little homeland”. A part of it will always be with me. I, like a tree, will feed on its strength. I think that people who have visited our places at least once, will never forget them. Our endless steppes will not forget. Steppes that our countryman, the famous M. Zhumabaev, whose name each citizen of my Motherland should know, adequately sang. And while my village invisibly caught the night.
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