Farewell with litom. Lesson topic. Usny wiklad of the artistic text of a rosy character

A few days of rain, not overstaying, cold boards. In the garden there is noisy wet weather. About the fourth year of the day, the lamps went out, and the momentary heels, but soon it ended on earth and where all the distant and distant in the deep fog, in the still darkness and cold.

Buv the end of the fall leaves is the best hour in the village. The cat slept all day, buried on an old crucible, and woke up, if the water was dark in the window.

The roads were rosy. It sounded like a zhovtuvat pin, I went to the beat-up bill. The rest of the birds flew away before the horror, and the axis was even greater, since none of us did not see us: neither did Mitro, nor Vanya Malyavin, nor the fox.

It was better in the evenings. We flooded the stoves. Noise in the fire, crimson vidblisks trembling on the cut walls and on old engravings - portraits of the artist Bryullov.

Visiting the chrisley, he marveled at us and woke up like that, reading the book, thinking about reading and listening to the sound of the board on the wood. The lamps burned brightly, and they all slept and copied their simple song, a young samovar-invalid. As soon as they brought it into the room, it was quiet at once - it’s possible, because the slope was fogged up and the spontaneous birch spike could not be seen, the day or not it knocked at the window.

We were drinking tea and reading. In such a night, we had a lot of readings from Charles Dickens’s novels, or to re-porting important volumes of magazines “Niva” and “Picturesque Oglyad” for old rock.

At night, we often cry uvі snі Funtik - a small ore dachshund. Bringing to get up and wrap him up with warm outward ganchirkoy. Funtik dyakuvav kryz dream, gently licking his hand і, zithnuv, hoarse. Temryava was making noise behind the walls, splashing the board and blows to the floor, and it was scary to think about the quiet one, who, perhaps, was caught by the nicholas in the impenetrable forest.

One night in the evening I threw myself through a wondrous vision.

I woke up, I am deaf now. I was lying in front of my eyes closed, dovgo listening, nareshti, sound, I’m not deaf, but just beyond the walls of the booth there came a quiet silence. I call this silence "dead." The boards died, the wind died, the galaslivy died, the restless garden. Bulo tilki chuti, yak sope uvi snі kit.

I am awake. Biliy and іvny light reminiscent of the room. I got up and went up to the window - behind the slope everything was dull and dull. In the foggy sky, on a foul-smelling height, there was a monotonous month, and near it, a shimmery colo shimmered.

If you have vipav the first snig? I went to work. It was so bright, how clear the arrows are. The stench showed two years.

I fell asleep asleep. It means that in two years the earth changed so unwittingly, in two short years of the field, the fox and the garden were mesmerized by the cold weather.

Through the window, I stabbed, like a great sіra ptah sіv on a maple tree in the garden. Gilka got used to it, sipavsya snig. Ptah every now and then flew and flew, and all sip, like the screeching of the boards, which fell from the skiff. Then again everything was quiet.

Throwing Reuben. Vіn didvgo marveled at the wink, іtkhnuv and saying:

- The first snow goes down to the face of the earth.

The earth is boolean, similar to the name of the sordid name.

And everything was crunching on the ground: frozen roads, leafing on the gank, black stems of sprinkles, scrubbing the s-pid snig.

Before tea, Did Mitro arrived and welcomed him to the first journey.

- The axis and the earth was pressed into the ground, - having said vin, - with water from medium cinnamon.

- Taking the stars, Mitri, such words? - powering Reuben.

- Isn't it okay? - laughing did. - My mother, deceased, told me that in the ancient rock the red was smashed by the first snow from the silver glacier, and that beauty did not fade away. It was tense to Tsar Peter, my dear, if the merchants' rogues were burning behind the tute forests.

Vazhko bloody in the house on the first winter day. We went to the lakes of the lake. Did accompanying us to the knot. Yomu might want to hang out on the lakes, ale "n let aches in the worms."

In the woods, it is lonely, light and quiet.

The day is starting. From the gloomy high sky, samotnі snіzhinki fell from a glance. We gently breathed on them, and the stench was perpetuated in the clean drops of water, over the kalamutnili, froze and drifted to the ground, like beads.

We wandered along the woods until the days, we went around the know mice. Zgraї sіgurіv sat, ruffled, on hillocky ridges.

We saw a small burrow of frost-buried red gorse - the whole thing remains to remember about summer, about autumn. On a small lake - it was called Larinim rate - a lot of duckweed always floated. The water in the lake was infected by the water in the lake, it is duzhe chorna, a hole - all the duckweed sank to the bottom before winter.

Bilya shores have grown into a crust of ice. Lead Buu Such a glimpse, how to navigate close to yo Bulo is important to remember. I shake the water at the shore and play the rafts and throw a small stone at them. Having fallen on the ice, the stones fell, the FLAT, blinking with a luster, darted into the depths, and on the ice, a granular granular slid was flooded to the blow. It was just that we were lucky, that the shore was already pretending to be a ball of ice. We broke off with our hands around the little ones. The stench crunched and smelled the smell of snow and lingonberry on my fingers.

Podekudi on the Galiavins flew over and pitifully squeaked for birds. The sky above my head was boiling deeper and more light, and up to the horizon it was thick and thick and colored with lead. They were gone, they were awful.

On the woods, everything was getting weaker, everything was quieter, and, nareshty, thick snig. Vin tanuv v black water the lakes, flapping their denunciations, powdered sirim dim lisu.

Winter the cob of the gentlemen over the earth, they knew that before the fluffy snow, that we could pick it up with our hands, we could know more of the leaves, they knew that in the ovens we would like to burn the fire, that we had lost the winter and the same winter great, yak lito.

A few days of rain, not overstaying, cold boards. In the garden there is noisy wet weather. About the fourth year of the day, the lamps went out, and the momentary heels, but soon it ended on earth and where all the distant and distant in the deep fog, in the still darkness and cold.

Buv the end of the fall leaves is the best hour in the village. The cat slept all day, buried itself on an old crucible, and woke up, if the water was dark.

The roads were rosy. It sounded like a zhovtuvat pin, I went to the beat-up bill. The rest of the birds flew away before the horror, and the axis was even greater, since none of us did not see us: neither did Mitro, nor Vanya Malyavin, nor the fox.

It was better in the evenings. We flooded the stoves. The noise of the fire, crimson vidblisks trembles on the cut-off walls and on old engravings - portraits of the artist Bryullov. Visiting the chrisley, he marveled at us and woke up like that, reading the book, thinking about reading and listening to the sound of the board on the wood.

The lamps burned brightly, and they all slept and copied their simple song, a young samovar-invalid. As soon as they brought it into the room, it was quiet at once - it’s possible, because the slope was fogged up and the spontaneous birch spike could not be seen, the day or not it knocked at the window.

We were drinking tea and reading. In such a night, we had a lot of readings from Charles Dickens’s novels, or to re-porting important volumes of magazines “Niva” and “Picturesque Oglyad” for old rock.

At night, we often cry uvі snі Funtik - a small ore dachshund. Bringing to get up and wrap him up with warm outward ganchirkoy. Funtik dyakuvav kryz dream, gently licking his hand і, zithnuv, hoarse. Temryava was making noise behind the walls, splashing the board and blows to the floor, and it was scary to think about the quiet one, who, perhaps, was caught by the nicholas in the impenetrable forest.

One night in the evening I threw myself through a wondrous vision. I woke up, I am deaf now. I lay with my eyes closed, dovgo listening to the nareshty eyes, that I was not deaf, but just behind the walls of the booth there came a quiet silence. I call this tisha "dead." The boards died, the wind died, the galaslivy died, the restless garden. Bulo tilki chuti, yak sope uvi snі kit.

I am awake. Biliy and іvny light reminiscent of the room. I got up and went up to the window - behind the slope everything was dull and dull. In the foggy sky, on a foul-smelling height, there was a monotonous month, and near it, a shimmery colo shimmered.

If you have vipav the first snig? I went to work. It was so bright, how clear the arrows are. The stench showed two years.

I fell asleep asleep. It means that in two years the earth changed so unwittingly, in two short years of the field, the fox and the garden were mesmerized by the cold weather.

Through the window, I stabbed, like a great sіra ptah sіv on a maple tree in the garden. Gilka got used to it, sipavsya snig. Ptah every now and then flew and flew, and all sip, like the screeching of the boards, which fell from the skiff. Then again everything was quiet.

Throwing Reuben. Vіn didvgo marveled at the wink, іtkhnuv and saying:

- The first snow goes down to the face of the earth.

The earth is boolean, similar to the name of the sordid name.

And everything was crunching on the ground: the frozen roads, leafing on the gank, black stems of sprinkles, so they washed off the snow.

Before tea, I arrived at the guest Mitro and welcomed the first journey.

- The axis and the earth was pressed into the ground, - having said vin, - with water from medium cinnamon.

- Taking the stars, Mitri, such words? - powering Reuben.

- Isn't it okay? - laughing did. - My mother, deceased, told me that in the ancient rock, the red was smashed by the first snow from the silver glacier, and that beauty did not wither away. It was tense to Tsar Peter, my dear, if the merchants' rogues were burning behind the tute forests.

Vazhko bloody in the house on the first winter day. We went to the lakes of the lake. Did accompanying us to the knot. Yomu might want to hang out on the lakes, ale "n let aches in the worms."

In the woods, it is lonely, light and quiet.

The day is starting. From the gloomy high sky, samotnі snіzhinki fell from a glance. We gently breathed on them, and the stench was perpetuated in the clean drops of water, over the kalamutnili, froze and drifted to the ground, like beads.

We wandered along the woods until the days, we went around the know mice. Zgraї sіgurіv sat, ruffled, on hillocky ridges.

We saw a small burrow of frost-buried red gorse - the whole thing remains to remember about summer, about autumn.

On a small lake - it was called Larin's rate - there was always a lot of duckweed swimming. The water in the lake was infected by the water in the lake, it is duzhe chorna, a hole - all the duckweed sank to the bottom before winter.

Bilya shores have grown into a crust of ice. Lead Buu Such a glimpse, how to navigate close to yo Bulo is important to remember. I shake the water at the shore and play the rafts and throw a small stone at them. Having fallen on the ice, the stones fell, the FLAT, blinking with a luster, darted into the depths, and on the ice, a granular granular slid was flooded to the blow. It was just that we were lucky, that the shore was already pretending to be a ball of ice. We broke off with our hands around the little ones. The stench crunched and smelled the smell of snow and lingonberry on my fingers.

Podekudi on the Galiavins flew over and pitifully squeaked for birds. The sky overhead was boiling deeper and lighter, and the sky was thicker and thicker to the horizon, and the color of the lead swelled. They are the stars of the snigovs.

At the forest everything was getting smaller, everything was quieter, and it was getting thicker and thicker. Win tanuv in the black waters of the lake, flapping the face, powdering sirim dim lisu.

Winter the cob of the gentlemen over the earth, they knew that before the fluffy snow, that we could pick it up with our hands, we could know more of the leaves, they knew that in the ovens we would like to burn the fire, that we had lost the winter and the same winter great, yak lito.

Kostyantin Paustovsky

Farewell with litom

A few days of rain, not overstaying, cold boards. In the garden there is noisy wet weather. About the fourth year of the day, the lamps went out, and the momentary heels, but soon it ended on earth and where all the distant and distant in the deep fog, in the still darkness and cold.

Buv the end of the fall leaves is the best hour in the village. The cat slept all day, buried itself on an old crucible, and woke up, if the water was dark.

The roads were rosy. It sounded like a zhovtuvat pin, I went to the beat-up bill. The rest of the birds flew away before the horror, and the axis was even greater, since none of us did not see us: neither did Mitro, nor Vanya Malyavin, nor the fox.

It was better in the evenings. We flooded the stoves. The noise of the fire, crimson vidblisks trembles on the cut-off walls and on old engravings - portraits of the artist Bryullov. Visiting the chrisley, he marveled at us and woke up like that, reading the book, thinking about reading and listening to the sound of the board on the wood.

The lamps burned brightly, and they all slept and copied their simple song, a young samovar-invalid. As soon as they brought it into the room, it was quiet at once - it’s possible, because the slope was fogged up and the spontaneous birch spike could not be seen, the day or not it knocked at the window.

We were drinking tea and reading. In such a night, we had a lot of readings from Charles Dickens’s novels, or to re-porting important volumes of magazines “Niva” and “Picturesque Oglyad” for old rock.

At night, we often cry uvі snі Funtik - a small ore dachshund. Bringing to get up and wrap him up with warm outward ganchirkoy. Funtik dyakuvav kryz dream, gently licking his hand і, zithnuv, hoarse. Temryava was making noise behind the walls, splashing the board and blows to the floor, and it was scary to think about the quiet one, who, perhaps, was caught by the nicholas in the impenetrable forest.

One night in the evening I threw myself through a wondrous vision. I woke up, I am deaf now. I lay with my eyes closed, dovgo listening to the nareshty eyes, that I was not deaf, but just behind the walls of the booth there came a quiet silence. I call this tisha "dead." The boards died, the wind died, the galaslivy died, the restless garden. Bulo tilki chuti, yak sope uvi snі kit.

I am awake. Biliy and іvny light reminiscent of the room. I got up and went up to the window - behind the slope everything was dull and dull. In the foggy sky, on a foul-smelling height, there was a monotonous month, and near it, a shimmery colo shimmered.

If you have vipav the first snig? I went to work. It was so bright, how clear the arrows are. The stench showed two years.

I fell asleep asleep. It means that in two years the earth changed so unwittingly, in two short years of the field, the fox and the garden were mesmerized by the cold weather.

Through the window, I stabbed, like a great sіra ptah sіv on a maple tree in the garden. Gilka got used to it, sipavsya snig. Ptah every now and then flew and flew, and all sip, like the screeching of the boards, which fell from the skiff. Then again everything was quiet.

Throwing Reuben. Vіn didvgo marveled at the wink, іtkhnuv and saying:

- The first snow goes down to the face of the earth.

The earth is boolean, similar to the name of the sordid name.

And everything was crunching on the ground: the frozen roads, leafing on the gank, black stems of sprinkles, so they washed off the snow.

Before tea, I arrived at the guest Mitro and welcomed the first journey.

- The axis and the earth was pressed into the ground, - having said vin, - with water from medium cinnamon.

- Taking the stars, Mitri, such words? - powering Reuben.

- Isn't it okay? - laughing did. - My mother, deceased, told me that in the ancient rock, the red was smashed by the first snow from the silver glacier, and that beauty did not wither away. It was tense to Tsar Peter, my dear, if the merchants' rogues were burning behind the tute forests.

Vazhko bloody in the house on the first winter day. We went to the lakes of the lake. Did accompanying us to the knot. Yomu might want to hang out on the lakes, ale "n let aches in the worms."

In the woods, it is lonely, light and quiet.

The day is starting. From the gloomy high sky, samotnі snіzhinki fell from a glance. We gently breathed on them, and the stench was perpetuated in the clean drops of water, over the kalamutnili, froze and drifted to the ground, like beads.

We wandered along the woods until the days, we went around the know mice. Zgraї sіgurіv sat, ruffled, on hillocky ridges.

We saw a small burrow of frost-buried red gorse - the whole thing remains to remember about summer, about autumn.

On a small lake - it was called Larin's rate - there was always a lot of duckweed swimming. The water in the lake was infected by the water in the lake, it is duzhe chorna, a hole - all the duckweed sank to the bottom before winter.

Bilya shores have grown into a crust of ice. Lead Buu Such a glimpse, how to navigate close to yo Bulo is important to remember. I shake the water at the shore and play the rafts and throw a small stone at them. Having fallen on the ice, the stones fell, the FLAT, blinking with a luster, darted into the depths, and on the ice, a granular granular slid was flooded to the blow. It was just that we were lucky, that the shore was already pretending to be a ball of ice. We broke off with our hands around the little ones. The stench crunched and smelled the smell of snow and lingonberry on my fingers.

Podekudi on the Galiavins flew over and pitifully squeaked for birds. The sky overhead was boiling deeper and lighter, and the sky was thicker and thicker to the horizon, and the color of the lead swelled. They are the stars of the snigovs.

At the forest everything was getting smaller, everything was quieter, and it was getting thicker and thicker. Win tanuv in the black waters of the lake, flapping the face, powdering sirim dim lisu.

Winter the cob of the gentlemen over the earth, they knew that before the fluffy snow, that we could pick it up with our hands, we could know more of the leaves, they knew that in the ovens we would like to burn the fire, that we had lost the winter and the same winter great, yak lito.

Inline side: 1 (all book has 1 side)

Kostyantin Paustovsky
Farewell with litom

A few days of rain, not overstaying, cold boards. In the garden there is noisy wet weather. About the fourth year of the day, the lamps went out, and the momentary heels, but soon it ended on earth and where all the distant and distant in the deep fog, in the still darkness and cold.

Buv the end of the fall leaves is the best hour in the village. The cat slept all day, buried itself on an old crucible, and woke up, if the water was dark.

The roads were rosy. It sounded like a zhovtuvat pin, I went to the beat-up bill. The rest of the birds flew away before the horror, and the axis was even greater, since none of us did not see us: neither did Mitro, nor Vanya Malyavin, nor the fox.

It was better in the evenings. We flooded the stoves. The noise of the fire, crimson vidblisks trembles on the cut-off walls and on old engravings - portraits of the artist Bryullov. Visiting the chrisley, he marveled at us and woke up like that, reading the book, thinking about reading and listening to the sound of the board on the wood.

The lamps burned brightly, and they all slept and copied their simple song, a young samovar-invalid. As soon as they brought it into the room, it was quiet at once - it’s possible, because the slope was fogged up and the spontaneous birch spike could not be seen, the day or not it knocked at the window.

We were drinking tea and reading. In such a night, we had a lot of readings from Charles Dickens’s novels, or to re-porting important volumes of magazines “Niva” and “Picturesque Oglyad” for old rock.

At night, we often cry uvі snі Funtik - a small ore dachshund. Bringing to get up and wrap him up with warm outward ganchirkoy. Funtik dyakuvav kryz dream, gently licking his hand і, zithnuv, hoarse. Temryava was making noise behind the walls, splashing the board and blows to the floor, and it was scary to think about the quiet one, who, perhaps, was caught by the nicholas in the impenetrable forest.

One night in the evening I threw myself through a wondrous vision. I woke up, I am deaf now. I lay with my eyes closed, dovgo listening to the nareshty eyes, that I was not deaf, but just behind the walls of the booth there came a quiet silence. I call this tisha "dead." The boards died, the wind died, the galaslivy died, the restless garden. Bulo tilki chuti, yak sope uvi snі kit.

I am awake. Biliy and іvny light reminiscent of the room. I got up and went up to the window - behind the slope everything was dull and dull. In the foggy sky, on a foul-smelling height, there was a monotonous month, and near it, a shimmery colo shimmered.

If you have vipav the first snig? I went to work. It was so bright, how clear the arrows are. The stench showed two years.

I fell asleep asleep. It means that in two years the earth changed so unwittingly, in two short years of the field, the fox and the garden were mesmerized by the cold weather.

Through the window, I stabbed, like a great sіra ptah sіv on a maple tree in the garden. Gilka got used to it, sipavsya snig. Ptah every now and then flew and flew, and all sip, like the screeching of the boards, which fell from the skiff. Then again everything was quiet.

Throwing Reuben. Vіn didvgo marveled at the wink, іtkhnuv and saying:

- The first snow goes down to the face of the earth.

The earth is boolean, similar to the name of the sordid name.

And everything was crunching on the ground: the frozen roads, leafing on the gank, black stems of sprinkles, so they washed off the snow.

Before tea, I arrived at the guest Mitro and welcomed the first journey.

- The axis and the earth was pressed into the ground, - having said vin, - with water from medium cinnamon.

- Taking the stars, Mitri, such words? - powering Reuben.

- Isn't it okay? - laughing did. - My mother, deceased, told me that in the ancient rock, the red was smashed by the first snow from the silver glacier, and that beauty did not wither away. It was tense to Tsar Peter, my dear, if the merchants' rogues were burning behind the tute forests.

Vazhko bloody in the house on the first winter day. We went to the lakes of the lake. Did accompanying us to the knot. Yomu might want to hang out on the lakes, ale "n let aches in the worms."

In the woods, it is lonely, light and quiet.

The day is starting. From the gloomy high sky, samotnі snіzhinki fell from a glance. We gently breathed on them, and the stench was perpetuated in the clean drops of water, over the kalamutnili, froze and drifted to the ground, like beads.

We wandered along the woods until the days, we went around the know mice. Zgraї sіgurіv sat, ruffled, on hillocky ridges.

We saw a small burrow of frost-buried red gorse - the whole thing remains to remember about summer, about autumn.

On a small lake - it was called Larin's rate - there was always a lot of duckweed swimming. The water in the lake was infected by the water in the lake, it is duzhe chorna, a hole - all the duckweed sank to the bottom before winter.

Bilya shores have grown into a crust of ice. Lead Buu Such a glimpse, how to navigate close to yo Bulo is important to remember. I shake the water at the shore and play the rafts and throw a small stone at them. Having fallen on the ice, the stones fell, the FLAT, blinking with a luster, darted into the depths, and on the ice, a granular granular slid was flooded to the blow. It was just that we were lucky, that the shore was already pretending to be a ball of ice. We broke off with our hands around the little ones. The stench crunched and smelled the smell of snow and lingonberry on my fingers.

Podekudi on the Galiavins flew over and pitifully squeaked for birds. The sky overhead was boiling deeper and lighter, and the sky was thicker and thicker to the horizon, and the color of the lead swelled. They are the stars of the snigovs.

At the forest everything was getting smaller, everything was quieter, and it was getting thicker and thicker. Win tanuv in the black waters of the lake, flapping the face, powdering sirim dim lisu.

Winter the cob of the gentlemen over the earth, they knew that before the fluffy snow, that we could pick it up with our hands, we could know more of the leaves, they knew that in the ovens we would like to burn the fire, that we had lost the winter and the same winter great, yak lito.

On the first winter day, we walked on the lakes of the forest. The forests were lonely, light and quiet. The day is starting. From the gloomy high sky, samotnі sіzhinki fell. We gently breathed on them, and the stench was perpetuated in the clean drops of water, over the kalamutnili, froze and drifted to the ground, like beads. We didn’t keep up, wandered through the woods until the day, we went around the world. The old snigurs sat crumpled on the ridges that were covered with snow. We saw a small burrow of frost-covered mountains - the whole thing is to remember about summer, about autumn. A lot of duckweed floated on a small lake (it was called the Larin rate). The water in the lake was infected by the bulldog, the hole: all the duckweed sank to the bottom before winter. Bilya shores have grown into a crust of ice. Lead Buu Such a glimpse, how to navigate close to yo Bulo is important to remember. I kicked the rafts near the water of the shore and threw a small stone at them. The stone fell on the ice, zazveniv, FLANE, blinking with a luster, rushed into the depths of the lake, and on the ice, a granular slate was flooded to the blow. It was just that we were lucky, that the shore was already pretending to be a ball of ice. We broke off our hands on the edge of the crumbs. The stench crunched and smelled the smell of snow and lingonberry on my fingers. Podekudi on the Galiavins flew over and pitifully squeaked for birds. The sky above my head was boiling deeper and more light, and up to the horizon it was thick and thick and colored with lead. The stars were all over the place.

On the woods, everything was getting weaker, everything was quieter, and, nareshty, thick snig. Win tanuv in the blue black waters of the lake, a flap of the face, powdered sirim dim lisu. Winter is the ear of the Lord over the earth.

(For K. Paustovsky)