“I remember the early autumn weather. August was warm with rains. Then, in the Indian summer, the webs sank a lot into the fields. I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning. I remember a large, all-gold, dried up and thinned garden, I remember the maple alleys, the delicate aroma of fallen leaves, and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is as pure as if it were not there at all. And the cool silence of the morning is disturbed only by the well-fed throat of thrushes on coral rowan trees in the garden, the voices and the loud knocking of apples poured into the measures and caskets. In the thinned garden, you can see the road to a large hut, strewn with straw. “Here there are philistine gardeners who rented the garden.” On holidays, near the hut, there is a whole fair, and behind the trees red flashes are flickering. ” All come for apples. The boys are coming up in white shirt-shirts and short portals, with white heads open.
They go in twos, three, finely fingering their bare feet, and squint at the shaggy shepherd tied to the apple tree. There are a lot of buyers, the trade is brisk, and the consumptive petty bourgeois in a long frock coat and red boots is merry. By night it becomes very cold and dewy in the weather. It’s getting dark. And here’s another scent: in the garden – a fire, and hard pulls the fragrant smoke of cherry twigs. “” Vigorous Antonovka – for a merry year. ” Rural affairs are good, if the Antonovka was born: it means that the bread was born. I remember the harvest year. In the early dawn, when the roosters are still shouting and the huts are smoking in black, you open the window to a cool garden, filled with a purple fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly here and there. and you run to wash on the pond. The fine foliage flew almost all over from coastal lozin, and the branches are pierced through the turquoise sky. The water under the sores became transparent, icy and as if heavy. “The author describes the village and its inhabitants, buildings, way of life.
Read more:” I did not know and did not see the serfdom, but I remember that my aunt Anna Gera-Simovna felt him You enter the yard and immediately you will feel that it is still quite alive. The manor is small. It is distinguished by the size or, better to say, only the blackened man’s length, from which the last Mohicans of the courtyard look-some old old men and old women, a decrepit cook in resigned, resembling Don Quixote. You come into the yard, pull yourself up and bow low, you’ll go into the house and first of all you’ll hear the smell of apples, and then you’ll hear the other: old mahogany furniture, dried lime blossom that has been lying on windows since June, in all rooms – in the hall, in the living room – cool and gloomy: this is because the house is surrounded by a garden, and the upper windows of the windows are colored: blue and purple. Everywhere there is silence and cleanliness, although, it seems, armchairs, tables with inlays and mirrors in narrow and twisted gold frames never moved. And now a cough is heard: my aunt comes out. It is small, but also, like everything around, strong. A large Persian shawl is draped over her shoulders. “” Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floor have deserted, the weather, as usual, changed abruptly, the wind ripped and rattled the trees for days on end, the rain poured them from morning till night, sometimes towards evening, between the gloomy low clouds, the trembling golden light of the low sun, the air was clear and clear, and the sunlight glittered dazzlingly between the leaves, between the branches that moved with a live net and were worried by the wind. The cool blue sky shone coldly and brightly in the north over the heavy leaden clouds, and because of these clouds the ridges of snow-covered mountain clouds slowly emerged. There was a long, disturbing night. From such a trepidation the garden was almost completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow quieted down, resigned. But how beautiful it was when the clear weather came again, the clear and cold days of the beginning of October, the farewell holiday of autumn! Preserved foliage will hang on the trees already before the first zazimkov. The black garden will shine on the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for the winter, warming up in the sunshine. “” When it was possible to oversleep hunting, the rest was especially pleasant. “Waking up and lying in bed for a long time, slowly dressing, wandering around the garden, you will find in the wet foliage accidentally a forgotten cold and wet apple, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others. Then you apply for books, – grandfather’s books in thick leather bindings, with gold stars on morocco roots. Gloriously smell these, like the church book of the book, its yellowed, thick rough paper! Some kind of pleasant sour mold, ancient spirits. Good and notes on their fields, large and with round soft strokes made with a quill pen. And involuntarily get carried away and the book itself. This is the Noble Philosopher. the story of how “a philosopher-nobleman, having time and the ability to reason, to which the reason of a man can ascend, can once have the desire to compose a plan of light in the lengthy place of his village.” “The smell of Antonov’s apples disappears from the landed estates.” These days were so recently, and yet it seems to me, that since then almost a century has passed. Old people died in the settlement, Anna Gerasimovna died, Arseny Semenych shot himself. There comes the kingdom of the petty, impoverished to beggary. But this beggarly small-land life is also good! So I see myself again in the village, a deep stale. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” Old people died in the settlement, Anna Gerasimovna died, Arseny Semenych shot himself. There comes the kingdom of the petty, impoverished to beggary. But this beggarly small-land life is also good! So I see myself again in the village, a deep stale. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” Old people died in the settlement, Anna Gerasimovna died, Arseny Semenych shot himself. There comes the kingdom of the petty, impoverished to beggary. But this beggarly small-land life is also good! So I see myself again in the village, a deep stale. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” There comes the kingdom of the petty, impoverished to beggary. But this beggarly small-land life is also good! So I see myself again in the village, a deep stale. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” There comes the kingdom of the petty, impoverished to beggary. But this beggarly small-land life is also good! So I see myself again in the village, a deep stale. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” In the morning I sit in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn leave for. field. The wind is ringing and buzzing in the muzzle of the gun, the wind is blowing hard, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I wander through the empty plains. Hungry and stagnant, I return to dusk in the estate, and it becomes so warm and hearty when the flames of Vyselok flash through and draw from the manor a smell of smoke and shelter. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” housing. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! ” housing. Sometimes a small-landed neighbor will call in and take me to his home for a long time. A fine life is also good! “
