My street

On the prospectus of Heroes of Stalingrad my family has been living since 1967. It used to be called Byron Street. Maybe someone wants to live on a wide noisy highway with a stream of cars in ten rows. And someone likes cozy cottages in the quiet shady streets of the old center. One give the “high-rise”, and the other dreams of a garden with dill and petunia under the window. Every street, like a person, has its own face, its problems, its own breathing.

Our avenue stretches from Gagarin Avenue in the west to the area of ​​the Tractor Plant in the east. It is crossed by other streets where the streetcars are constantly ringing, buses are rushing, and Prospekt is very nervous when one of the traffic lights fails. And his breath beggars: there are too many large factories around. Here before a large array was occupied by the fields of the Scientific Research Institute. acad. St. George’s. Then the houses moved closer to the future avenue. But back in the late

60’s, my mother from our window watched the takeoff and landing of aircraft at the Kharkov airport. In the photo album “Kharkiv. Arhitektura i pamyatniki” there is a worthy “portrait” of my Prospectus. He is slim and green. On the right nine-storey buildings are houses with improved planning. They were designed by my mother’s employee, the famous architect PG Chechelnitsky.

Opposite the windows of the house, along Prospekt, there is a lime walkway. There I, still sitting in a wheelchair, inhaled the smell of flowering lindens. My mother rolled the carriage and read Moydodyra with an expression.

One of the last bright pictures associated with the Prospect is the rainbow. Afternoon. The sun was only released from the captivity of the clouds, it is in the west, behind my back. I cross the road. And suddenly a rainbow hangs over the huge high-colored bridge from north to south over Prospekt. It was amazing!

I like to watch the Prospect in the spring, when trees are awakened after a winter sleep, the kidneys open, the glades are dyed yellow in color. He becomes picturesque in the autumn, when lindens stand in a gold attire, the rows of mountain ash blush.

I love my native Prospect!

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My street