The house I would like to live in

The house I would like to live in

I was born and live in the city, my parents are also townspeople. I love my city, the way I go to school, a small stadium near the house, where I often play football with my friends. Near the house there is a metro and a large old park. When I walk in it, it seems to me that a magician is just about to emerge from the thicket and will say that he can fulfill one of my desires. Then I would say that I want to have a house in the forest.

In my fantasies this house is wooden. Its roof is covered with fallen leaves and needles. The branches of trees knock on the windows. After waking up in the morning, I go out on a tall wooden porch. The air is saturated with the aroma of the earth, grasses, deciduous and coniferous trees. From branch to branch jumps magpie with a long tail, somewhere

a woodpecker is knocking. Often a gutter climbs up the roof of the house. I try to tame it. I put on the railing a hazelnut, apples, other delicacies. Time passes, and here we with the squirrel become friends. She is already starting to take the seeds from my palm. The time will come, and the squirrel will jump boldly through the open window into the house.

The house is twilight: the trees so closed their crowns, that only at noon the sun can break through the thick foliage, and the glare will fall on the walls, hung with medicinal herbs. The sun’s rays will certainly visit the bunches of dried mushrooms, apples and, of course, on wooden shelves with books about the life of the forest, its inhabitants. And then a ray of sunlight will linger on the portrait of my dad’s elder brother, my uncle. He has worked as a forester for many years. During the summer holidays, I lived in his house on a forest cordon. My father’s brother sometimes took me with him. There I learned what it means to be a forester. The forester makes sure that there is order in the forest so that no one dares to harm the beast, the bird or the tree to prevent a fire. We left the forest house along one path, and returned on the other. These paths are not visible to the eye. Only forester forest reveals its secrets. My uncle made a feeding bowl for moose. Often elk came directly to the house. On the porch often zaprygivali squirrels, trees scraped on the roof and walls, windows of the house. And in bad weather the rain knocked on the roof so much that it seemed as if you were inside some giant drum.

That’s where my dream was to become a forester and live in a wood in a wooden house.


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The house I would like to live in