My little homeland essay

Nothing on earth can be closer, milder than a small homeland. Each person has his own homeland. Some have a big city, others have a small village, but all people like it the same way. Some leave for other cities, countries, but nothing will replace it.

The homeland does not have to be big. It can be any corner of your city, town. I have my favorite place. This is the grandmother’s house in the village. There is nothing more beautiful than this corner of Russia. Every vacation I try to visit my grandmother, especially in the summer. I like to lie on the green grass, basking in the sun on the river bank. Birds are chirping nearby, and it seems that time stops. Life stops, and you forget about all the problems. Beautiful evening! Good weather, the sun sets, and the moon appears in the sky. Silence, only grasshoppers chirp. Look at the sky, and the stars seem so close that if you stretch out your hands, you can touch them. Grandmother says. it’s because the river is close.


also great in a village in winter. You will sit at home near the stove. It’s warm, and snowdrifts have set off outside the window. Even the door to the street is difficult to open. Snow in the sun shines like a mountain of diamonds. You go out into the street – it’s cold, the frost and picks it up. You will reach the stable, and the animals reach out to you, as if to say that they also need affection.

I really love my grandmother’s livestock, especially I like rabbits. Rabbits are small, delicate creatures. When you take them in your arms, their noses begin to move so amusingly, this indicates that they are sniffing at your scent. I also love grandmother’s horses. In the village there is a black horse named Gypsy. Gypsy – very arrogant, zealous horse. I skated several times. Horses are very intelligent creatures. When I look them in the eyes, we mentally communicate.

Oh, how I love this paradise. How can you not be proud of my homeland? She takes me in her arms, always affectionate with me, affable. How well I breathe at her place. We leave, we die,

and our motherland always lives. Others come, and she becomes native to them, lives in every drop of dew in the morning, in a quiet willow by the river, in wide, free fields.

Oh, how sweet are the snow-white fragile water-lilies. When I feel bad and I want to forget, I always go to this place near the river. It seems to me that nature listens and understands me. She’s a good listener. She will only understand and will not criticize.

Beyond the river there is a majestic forest across the road. When evening comes, the forest is covered with pink paint. There is a feeling that I already saw this somewhere, I felt this pleasant smell, but only where, I do not remember. I want time to stop, but it ruthlessly moves forward. We grow up, we grow up, but we will not forget our small homeland. We will love and honor her until the last days of her life.

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My little homeland essay