The clouds are gray, gloomy, rain is not far off. autumn. bare ground fog zavoloka. that is my only weapon of satiety, the only weapon to keep warm, sporting, strigunka catches in the steppe strigunok. no grass, no tulips. and everywhere was quiet voiced hubbub of children, young guys laughing. and the trees, like the poor old men, are the bare, bereft of their leaves. the skin of a bull, a sheep in a tub tan. repairing old coats and quilted robe. moloduha patch leaky tent, and the old woman for weeks suchat thread. shoals stretched south cranes. caravans of camels passed under them, and in the villages - gloom and silence. laughter fun games were away: winds, becoming colder, chill hurts and old people and children. dogs catch hungry mice field, unable to find, as it did, scraps, bones, wind raises dust - over the steppe black. autumn, damp. but already opened - bad habits - can not kindle the fire. our yurts are now uncomfortably dark.
Our boarding school is a big, friendly family, and therefore on Friday. I do not want to part with my friends. Did you see that the tenth grade students we're friends with first- graders? And here are friends! And the boys and girls get on weel together. We have six meals a day, cozy bedrooms, each class has it's own class teacher. We can study in defferent circles: theater, music, computer; you can swim in the pool or play football on the court. There are almost every day discos. We get good knowledge, and we are happy.
