What do you love more about your country?

Homeland is the dearest thing a person has. The native land is the place where a person was born and raised. I was born and raised in the Kuban. This is a wonderful place, saturated with fresh air and warm rays of the sun.

I believe that the native land should be the most beautiful and loved. The nature of my native land is multifaceted. In autumn, she seems to cry and say goodbye to summer, and in winter frost covers everything with fluffy snow and the forest and fields freeze. It is very beautiful to look at the forest in winter. A snow cap covers all the tops of the trees and they seem to be in the same scale.

As soon as the snow melts, the first, still barely green, grass appears. The first flowers, which will delight all people, are trying to break through from the ground. The trees have already taken off their snow cap and seemed to be pulling for the sun. The first green leaves appear on the branches. The sun shines through the window and illuminates my entire room. Sometimes the sun instead of an alarm clock will be me in the morning so that I will not be late for school. Butterflies fly in, and the surrounding world becomes more colorful.

Summer is my favorite time of the year. In my native land, you can do whatever you want in the summer. Not far from my house there is a sea in which I love to swim. The native land is not only nature, but also the animals that inhabit this land. We have a lot of different birds that arrive here in spring and stay until autumn. Then they fly off to a warmer climate to wait out the winter.

Each person has a place where you always want to return, where you are loved and expected. This is a small village or settlement or city ... In a word, this is the homeland, which is always inexorably drawn. And you wait for the time when the suitcase is packed and the ticket is bought. Soon! Soon! Soon this long-awaited meeting will take place with the place on the map where people, streets, squares and ... playgrounds love and wait for you.

We notice our growing up in playgrounds. My first slide, the first swing was in the city of Rostov-on-Don. This city is only 257 years old, it is based on the intersection of southern trade routes, and there are no monuments of antiquity and architecture, which will be engraved in memory and will be remembered for a lifetime. But the very name of this city excites my imagination; evokes the warmest and most vivid memories. Inevitably I want to get on the fast train "Quiet Don", and in the morning get off at the Rostov station.

It's still fresh, the air is clear after a warm southern night. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, imagining my grandmother's house, the table set for our arrival .., and suddenly I hear joyful exclamations, "How did you get there?", "Where is Lena?", "How did she grow up!" …" I'm at home…. I was born in Rostov, my mother was born here. We love this city, my grandparents live in it - the closest and dearest people. Mom's classmates and best friend live here. And it’s not surprising that my mother’s friend’s daughter became my best friend.

For a whole year we have been texting and talking on the phone…. All day, and all evening we talk and cannot stop talking. It turns out that a lot of events happened during the year. I love Rostov. I love quiet provincial streets on the outskirts, noisy modern avenues with towering high-rises; and of course, cobblestone alleys running down the waterfront. I really love to ride a river tram, endlessly amazed at how unpretentious provincialism and the crazy rhythm of the southern capital are unimaginably combined in this wonderful city.

Isn't that the only beauty? Houses, streets ... And people? After all, the city is inhabited by the Don Cossacks. Cossack songs are often heard from the quiet old courtyards in the evenings. Cossack women sing about exploits, about love. Almost every song is a musical story, a confession. It spreads far away in the evening silence "A young Cossack walks along the Don ..." And it seems that old trees, lonely lanterns and Father Don himself are listening to the song ... Of course, I am not yet familiar with Sholokhov's great novel, but my parents have already shown me the monuments on the Don embankment Gregory and Aksinya. And every time I look at them, I think what kind of people are these - the Don Cossacks, about whom my grandpa told me so much.

And in the morning - again vanity, noise. Old Rostov would not have been Rostov without the famous southern bazaar. I have not seen such a variety, hustle and bustle anywhere else: luxurious tomatoes, pimpled cucumbers, huge watermelons and juicy peaches! The head is spinning from such an abundance. And my mother and I want everything at once!

It just so happened that my parents moved a lot from place to place (my dad is a military man), and I saw many different cities, but it is all the more joyful to realize that among the eternal changes there is a fragment of constancy - the city of my early childhood; a place where you want to return, where they love and wait for me!

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