as i spent summer.as i spent summer it there was an interesting summer. if the first month of rest differed nothing from the previous summer vacations, i was in the city, the next two months were for me the being most remembered, i went to the aunt to the village. with the spent days in the village i connected the most interesting events and bright impressions of my summer.in the village time goes slowly and indecisively, at all as in big cities. it seems that passed the whole month, and actually there passed only one week. usually, since morning i help the aunt on a kitchen garden though its morning begins before mine. at us the village far from the settlement and water from the crane unprecedented luxury therefore i take two old iron buckets and i go through three houses to a well. water from a well improbably pure and very cold. sometimes it is necessary to make something on the house but as soon as there is the first opportunity, i jump through a fence and i run to friends.in the village at me good friends. together we will see off nearly all the time. in the hottest days we for hours can stay on the bank of the small river. we bathe, frolic and see off views passable barges. somehow to me got from my aunt that i passed a dinner, and actually i and wasn't hungry. the matter is that my friend pashka brought the whole package of potato from uncle serezhi, and we baked it directly in a fire. what this pleasure to throw from one in other hand hot potato, and then to break and eat on a slice, clearing it of salty ashes. agree, it to you not a plate with ready soup. but how many romanticism and happiness carried out, as though absolutely in other world, summer days! in the evenings i stayed at home in the real wooden log hut. usually, after a dinner to a theta girlfriends came, they long sat at a big round table in the center of the room and drank tea. i was nearby, climbing on the big stone furnace, and or considered the books brought from the city, or did nothing as the aunt often spoke "idled". though actually i kept the diary, and as robinson crusoe on the desert island, did marks, counting days till that time when me will take away to the city.sometimes, i catch myself on thought that the village and is an island far from the city where life submits to other rhythm. perhaps, because the cities here are closer to the nature or maybe simply so far came off the real quiet life in a pursuit of technical progress. anyway, i am the city person and my place there, in a never-ending flow of information, but each time leaving this silent island of tranquillity, i will remember how spent summer and to miss my village.
както так должно быть правельно лично у нас в язеке так перевод немогу написать долго
