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51
Under the light breeze of the sultry wind, the sea trembled and, covered with small ripples, dazzlingly brightly reflecting the sun, smiled at the blue sky with thousands of silver smiles. In the space between the sea and the sky there was a cheerful splash of waves, running up to the gently sloping shore of a sandy spit. Everything was full of lively joy: the sound and brilliance of the sun, the wind and the salty scent of water, the hot air and yellow sand. A narrow long scythe, piercing with a sharp spire into the boundless desert of water playing with the sun, was lost somewhere in the distance, where a sultry haze hid the earth. Hooks, oars, baskets, and barrels lay disorderly on the spit. On this day, even the seagulls are exhausted by the heat. They sit in rows on the sand with their beaks open and their wings lowered, or they sway lazily on the waves.
When the sun began to descend into the sea, the restless waves either played merrily and noisily, or splashed dreamily affectionately on the shore. Through their noise, something like sighs or soft, affectionate cries reached the shore. The sun was setting, and a pinkish reflection of its rays lay on the yellow hot sand. And the pitiful willow bushes, and the mother-of-pearl clouds, and the waves that ran up the shore—everything was getting ready for the night's rest. Lonely, as if lost in the dark distance of the sea, the fire of the fire flared up brightly, then died out, as if exhausted. Night shadows lay not only on the sea, but also on the shore. All around was only the immeasurable, solemn sea, silvered by the moon, and the blue sky, studded with stars.
(According to M. Gorky)
52
ordinary earth
In the Meshchersky region there are no special beauties and riches, except for forests, meadows and clear air. Nevertheless, this land of untrodden paths and fearless animals and birds has a great attraction. He is as modest as the paintings of Levitan, but in him, as in these paintings, lies all the charm and all the diversity of Russian nature, imperceptible at first glance. What can be seen in the Meshchersky region? Flowering, never mowed meadows, creeping fogs, pine forests, forest lakes, high stacks smelling of dry and warm hay. The hay in the stacks stays warm throughout the winter. I had to spend the night in stacks in October, when frost covers the grass at dawn, and I dug a deep hole in the hay. You climb into it - you immediately warm up and sleep throughout the night, as if in a heated room. And over the meadows the wind drives leaden clouds. In the Meshchera Territory, one can see, or rather hear, such solemn silence that the bell of a lost cow can be heard from afar, almost for kilometers, unless, of course, the day is windless. In summer, on windy days, the forests rustle with a great oceanic rumble and the tops of giant pines bend after the passing clouds.
Suddenly, lightning flashed in the distance. It's time to seek shelter from the unexpected rain. I hope we manage to escape in time under that oak tree. You will never get wet under this natural tent created by generous nature. But then the lightning flashed, and the hordes of clouds were carried away somewhere into the distance. Having made our way through a wet fern and some kind of creeping vegetation, we get out onto a barely noticeable path. How beautiful Meshchera is when you get used to it! Everything becomes familiar: the cries of quails, the fussy knock of woodpeckers, and the rustle of rain in red needles, and the weeping of willows over a sleeping river.
(According to K. Paustovsky)
53
Now bears are no longer led through the villages. Yes, and the gypsies rarely roam, for the most part they live in the places where they are assigned, and only sometimes, paying tribute to their age-old habit, they get out somewhere to pasture, pull on a sooty linen and live with their whole families, engaged in forging horses, horseshoeing and mercenary . I even happened to see that the tents gave way to hastily put together wooden booths. It was in a provincial town: not far from the hospital and the market square, on a piece of land not yet built up, next to the postal road.
From the booths came the clanging of iron; I looked into one of them: some old man was forging horseshoes. I looked at his work and saw that he was no longer the former gypsy blacksmith, but a simple artisan; passing quite late in the evening, I went up to the booth and saw an old man doing the same thing. It was strange to see a gypsy camp almost inside the city: wooden booths, fires with cast-iron pots, in which gypsies wrapped in colorful scarves cooked some dishes.
The gypsies walked through the villages, giving their performances for the last time. For the last time, the bears showed their art: they danced, fought, showed how boys steal peas. For the last time, old men and women came to be treated with a sure, tried and tested remedy: to lie on the ground under a bear, which lay on the patient's belly, spreading its four paws wide in all directions on the ground. The last time they were brought into the huts, and if the bear voluntarily agreed to enter, they led him to the front corner, and planted there, and rejoiced at his consent as a good sign.
(According to V. Garshin)
54
During the past summer, I had to live in an old manor near Moscow, where several small dachas were set up and rented out. I never expected this: a dacha near Moscow, I had never lived as a summer resident without some sort of business in an estate so unlike our steppe estates, and in such a climate.
In the manor park the trees were so large that the dachas built in some places in it seemed small under it, having the appearance of native dwellings under the trees in tropical countries. The pond in the park, half covered with green duckweed, stood like a huge black mirror.
I lived on the outskirts of a park adjoining a sparse mixed forest; my plank dacha was not completed, the walls were not caulked, the floors were not planed, there was almost no furniture. From the dampness, which apparently never disappeared, my boots, lying under the bed, were overgrown with moldy velvet.
It rained almost incessantly all summer. It used to happen that white clouds accumulated in the bright blue and thunder rolled in the distance, then a brilliant rain began to fall through the sun, which quickly turned from the heat into fragrant pine steam. Somehow, unexpectedly, the rain ended, and from the park, from the forest, from neighboring pastures - from everywhere again one could hear the joyful discord of birds.
It was still clear before sunset, and on my planked walls the crystal-gold grid of the low sun trembled, falling through the leaves through the windows.
It got dark in the evenings only towards midnight: the half-light of the west stands and stands through the completely motionless, hushed forests. On moonlit nights, this half-light somehow strangely interfered with the moonlight, also motionless, enchanted. And from the calmness that reigned everywhere, from the purity of the sky and air, it seemed that there would be no more rain. But now, as I was falling asleep, I suddenly heard: a downpour with thunderous peals was again falling on the roof, boundless darkness all around and lightning falling in a plumb line.
In the morning, in the damp alleys, on the lilac earth, colorful shadows and dazzling spots of the sun spread, birds called flycatchers chirped, and thrushes hoarsely crackled. And by noon it soared again, found clouds and began to pour rain.
(According to I. Bunin)
55
He angrily tossed his cigarette butt, hissing in a puddle, thrust his hands into the pockets of his unbuttoned, wind-blown overcoat, and, bowing his head, which had not yet had time to clear up from pre-dinner lessons, and feeling the weight of a bad dinner in his stomach, began to pace with concentration and energy. But no matter how he walked, everything that was around him went along with him: the slanting rain that wet his face, and the shabby student uniform, and the huge houses, strangely and silently crowded on both sides of the narrow street, and passers-by, wet, gloomy, who seemed in the rain all as one. All this familiar, repeated day after day, annoyingly went along with him, not for a minute, not for a moment, not lagging behind.
And the whole atmosphere of his present life, all the same, repeating from day to day, seemed to go along with him: in the morning a few sips of hot tea, then endless running around the lessons.
And all the houses of his clients were in the same manner, and life in them went on in the same manner, and the attitude towards him and him towards them was the same. It seemed that he only changed streets during the day, but went in to the same people, to the same family, despite the difference in physiognomies, ages and social status.
He called. Didn't open for a long time. Zagrivov stood frowning. The rain was still slanting, the cleanly washed sidewalks shone with moisture. The cabbies, ruffled, pulled the reins just as they always did. In this humility, one felt his own special life, inaccessible to others.
There were three chairs in an empty, bare room, even without a stove. On the table lay two unfolded notebooks with pencils placed on them. As a rule, when Zagrivov entered, he was greeted at the table, looking from under his brows, by two gloomy broad-shouldered realists.
The eldest, the spitting image of his father, was in the fifth grade. Looking at that low forehead overgrown with coarse hair, at that heavy, irregular head cut back, it seemed that a very small corner for the brain remained in the thick skull.
Zagrivov never talked about anything extraneous with his students. There was always a wall of alienation between him and his students. Strict, stern silence also reigned in the house, as if no one was walking, talking, laughing.
(According to A. Serafimovich)
56
Blizzard
We drove for a long time, but the blizzard did not weaken, but, on the contrary, seemed to intensify. The day was windy, and even from the leeward side one could feel the incessant buzzing into some well from below. My feet began to freeze, and I tried in vain to throw something on top of them. Every now and then the coachman turned his weather-beaten face towards me, with reddened eyes and droopy eyelashes, and shouted something, but I couldn't make out anything. He probably tried to cheer me up, as he counted on the speedy end of the journey, but his calculations did not materialize, and we wandered in the darkness for a long time. Even at the station, he assured me that you can always get used to the winds, only I, a southerner and a homebody, endured these inconveniences of my journey, to be honest, with difficulty. I couldn't help but feel that the journey I had made was not at all safe.
The coachman hadn't been singing his artless song for a long time; there was complete silence in the field, white, frozen; no pole, no haystack, no windmill—nothing to be seen. By evening, the blizzard had subsided, but the darkness impenetrable in the field was also a gloomy picture. The horses seemed to be in a hurry, and the silver bells rang on the arc.
It was impossible to get out of the sleigh: the snow had piled up to half an arshin, the sleigh continuously drove into the snowdrift. I waited with difficulty until we finally arrived at the inn.
The hospitable hosts nursed us for a long time: they scrubbed us, heated them, treated us to tea, which, by the way, they drink here so hot that I burned my tongue, however, this did not in the least prevent us from talking in a friendly way, as if we had known each other for a century. An irresistible drowsiness, inspired by warmth and satiety, naturally drove us to sleep, and I, putting my felted boots on the heated stove, lay down and heard nothing: neither the wrangling of the coachmen, nor the whispering of the owners - I fell asleep like a log. The next morning, the hosts fed the uninvited guests with dried venison, and shot hares, and potatoes baked in ashes, and gave them warm milk to drink.
(According to I. Golub, V. Shein)
57
Night in Balaklava
At the end of October, when the days are still gentle in autumn, Balaklava begins to live a peculiar life. The last vacationers, burdened with suitcases and trunks, leave, having enjoyed the sun and the sea during the long local summer, and immediately it becomes spacious, fresh and businesslike at home, as if after the departure of sensational uninvited guests.
Fishing nets are spread across the embankment, and on the polished cobblestones of the pavement they seem delicate and thin, like cobwebs. The fishermen, these workers of the sea, as they are called, crawl along the spread nets, like gray-black spiders mending a torn, airy veil. The captains of the fishing boats sharpen stubborn beluga hooks, and at the stone wells, where the water babbles in an uninterrupted silver stream, gossiping, gathering here in their free minutes, dark-faced women are local residents.
Sinking across the sea, the sun sets, and soon a starry night, replacing a short evening dawn, envelops the earth. The whole city falls into a deep sleep, and the hour comes when not a sound comes from anywhere. Only occasionally water splashes against the coastal stone, and this lonely sound further emphasizes the unbroken silence. You feel how night and silence have merged into one black embrace.
Nowhere, in my opinion, you will hear such perfect, such ideal silence as in the night Balaklava.
(According to A. Kuprin)
58
On the hayfield
The grass on the unmowed meadow, low but dense, turned out to be not softer, but even tougher, but I did not give up and, trying to mow as best as possible, did not lag behind.
Vladimir, the son of a former serf, never ceased waving his scythe, cutting grass in vain, without showing the slightest effort. Despite being extremely tired, I did not dare to ask Vladimir to stop, but I felt that I could not stand it: I was so tired.
At this time, Vladimir himself stopped and, bending down, took the herbs, slowly wiped his scythe and silently began to sharpen. I slowly lowered the scythe and breathed a sigh of relief, looking around.
A nondescript peasant, limping behind and, apparently, also tired, immediately, before reaching me, stopped and began to sharpen, crossing himself.
Having sharpened his scythe, Vladimir did the same with my scythe, and without hesitation we moved on. Vladimir went step by step, without stopping, and did not seem to feel any fatigue. I mowed with all my might, trying to keep up, and became weaker and weaker. Waving the scythe with feigned indifference, I became more and more convinced that I did not have enough strength even for a few swings of the scythe needed to complete the series.
Finally, the row was passed, and, throwing his scythe over his shoulder, Vladimir went along the already well-trodden mowing, stepping on the footprints left by his heels. Sweat rolled off my face, and my whole shirt was wet, as if soaked in water, but I felt good: I survived.
59
Twilight, perhaps, was the reason that the procurator's appearance changed dramatically. He seemed to have aged before our eyes, hunched over and, in addition, became anxious. Once he looked back and for some reason shuddered, glancing at the empty chair, on the back of which lay a cloak. The transparent night was approaching, the evening shadows were playing their game, and, probably, the tired procurator fancied that someone was sitting in an empty armchair. Allowing cowardice, moving his discarded cloak, the procurator, leaving it, ran across the balcony, now running up to the table and clutching at the bowl, now stopping and beginning to stare senselessly at the mosaic of the floor.
For the second time today, depression has fallen on him. Rubbing his temple, in which only a nagging memory of the morning pain remained, the procurator struggled to understand what was the cause of his mental anguish, and, realizing this, he tried to deceive himself. It was clear to him that, having irretrievably missed something this morning, he now wanted to correct what he had missed by some petty and insignificant, and most importantly, belated actions. But the procurator was very bad at it. At one of the turns, stopping abruptly, the procurator whistled, and out of the garden jumped out onto the balcony a gigantic sharp-eared dog in a collar with gilded plaques.
The procurator sat down in an armchair; Banga, sticking out his tongue and breathing rapidly, sat down at the feet of the owner, and the joy in the eyes of the dog meant that the storm was over and that he was again here, next to the man he loved, considered the most powerful in the world, the ruler of all people, thanks to whom he himself the dog considered himself a privileged being, superior and special. But, lying down at the feet of the owner and not even food for him, the dog immediately realized that his owner was in trouble, and therefore Bunga, getting up and going to the side, laid his paws and head on the knees of the procurator, which should have meant: he is comforting his master and misfortune is ready to meet with him. This he tried to express both in his eyes, which were squinting at his master, and in his alert, alert ears. So both of them, the dog and the man, loving each other, met the festive night.
(According to M. Bulgakov)
60
I woke up early in the morning. The room was filled with a steady yellow light, as if from a kerosene lamp. The light came from below, from the window, and illuminated the log ceiling most brightly. The strange light, dim and motionless, was not at all like sunlight. It was the shining autumn leaves.
During the windy and long night, the garden dropped dry leaves. It lay in multi-colored heaps on the ground and spread a dull glow, and from this glow people's faces seemed to be tanned. Autumn mixed all the pure colors that exist in the world, and applied them, as if on a canvas, to the distant expanses of earth and sky.
I saw dry leaves, not only gold and purple, but purple and gray and almost silver. The colors seemed to have softened because of the autumn haze, they hung motionless in the air. And when it rained incessantly, the softness of the colors gave way to brilliance: the sky, covered with clouds, still gave enough light so that the wet forests could light up in the distance, like majestic crimson and gold fires. Now the end of September, and in the sky there is some strange combination of naive blue and dark double clouds. From time to time a clear sun peeps through, and then the clouds become even blacker, the clear patches of the sky become even bluer, the narrow road is even blacker, the old bell tower peeps even whiter through the half-fallen lindens.
If from this bell tower, climbing the wooden rickety stairs, look to the north-west, then your horizons will immediately expand. From here, the river is especially clearly visible, wrapping around the foot of the hill on which the village is spread. And in the distance you can see the forest, a horseshoe covering the entire horizon.
It began to get dark, either low clouds, or the smoke of a giant fire, were coming from the east, and I returned home. Already late in the evening I went out into the garden, to the well. Putting a thick lantern on the log house, he took out water. Yellow leaves floated in the bucket. Nowhere to hide from them - they were everywhere. It became difficult to walk along the paths of the garden: you had to walk on the leaves, as if on a real carpet. We found them in the house too: on the floor, on the made bed, on the stove - everywhere. They were soaked through with their wine aroma.
61
In the afternoon it became so hot that the passengers moved to the upper deck. Despite the calm, the entire surface of the river was seething with a trembling swell, in which the sun's rays were unbearably brightly crushed, giving the impression of countless silver balls. Only in the shallows, where the shore ran into the river like a long cape, did the water bend around it in a motionless ribbon, calmly blue among these brilliant ripples.
There was not a cloud in the sky, but here and there thin white clouds stretched out on the horizon, casting along the edges like strokes of molten metal. Black smoke, not rising above the chimney, trailed behind the steamer in a long dirty tail.
From below, from the engine room, came a continuous hiss and some kind of deep, regular sighs, in time with which the wooden deck of the Hawk shuddered. Behind the stern, catching up with her, ran rows of long, wide waves; white curly waves suddenly boiled furiously on their muddy green top and, smoothly sinking down, suddenly melted, as if hiding under water. The waves tirelessly ran up to the shore and, crashing against the slope with a noise, ran back, exposing the sandbar, all eaten away by the surf.
This monotony did not bore Vera Lvovna and did not tire her: she looked at the whole of God's world through a rainbow veil of quiet charm. Everything seemed sweet and dear to her: the steamer, unusually white and clean, and the captain, a hefty fat man in a pair of canvas, with a crimson face and an animal voice hoarse from bad weather, and the pilot, a handsome black-bearded peasant, who turned the wheel of the steering wheel in his glass booth. , while his sharp, narrowed eyes stared fixedly into the distance.
A wharf appeared in the distance - a small red wooden house built on a barque. The captain, putting his mouth to the mouthpiece held in the engine room, shouted command words, and his voice seemed to come out of a deep barrel: “The smallest! Reverse!"
Women and girls crowded around the station; they offered passengers dried raspberries, bottles of boiled milk, salted fish, boiled and baked lamb.
The heat was slowly subsiding. Passengers watched the sun set in a blaze of blood-purple flames and melted gold. When the bright colors subsided, the entire horizon lit up with an even dusty pink glow. Finally, this radiance faded, and only not high above the ground, in the place where the sun had set, remained an indistinct long pink stripe, imperceptibly passing at the top of the sky into a soft bluish tint of the evening sky.
(According to A. Kuprin)
Soloukhin Vladimir
summer flood
Vladimir Alekseevich SOLOUKHIN
summer flood
It rained every day. In the end, the earth was so saturated with water that it did not take any more moisture. That is why, when a wide, dark hole formed in the sky and abundant, summer-like warm water gushed from there, our quiet, peaceful river immediately began to swell and swell. In every ravine, in every ditch, in a race, jumping over the roots of trees, over stones, streams rushed, as if their only task was to rush to the river as quickly as possible and take part in its revelry.
The rain lashed the backs of streams and streams with ropes, whipping them up. The stronger, the louder the rain lashed, the more recklessly, the more quickly countless streams rushed.
Above the ground, so about half a meter, there was gray smoke. Large drops of rain crashed on the ground, turning into dust and tiny splashes. Exactly the same gray smoke was seen above each roof. Everywhere, confidently filling the surroundings, a steady, tense noise kept steady. From time to time, thunder rumbled sharply and deafeningly. It was strange to hear him, because the whole sky was gray and even, stormy, and not menacing, when the black blue and the wind and everyone knows that this will pass now.
The rain poured in calm, from a monotonous, gelatinous sky. There seemed to be no end to it now. Least of all could one expect thunder strikes, nevertheless, there were strikes, and each blow, like a whip, whipped up the already furious rain.
The noise was all night. By morning it was quiet. Only abundant dripping from the trees, and if you listen very sensitively, then from the grasses.
The rain had passed, and by the river the festivities began. Never, with the most friendly melting of the most deep snow, there was no such flood on our river, such a water field as it is now. The river immediately tore off and carried away with it all the lava, lifted up everything that lay on its summer banks, which seemed safe: firewood like firewood, logs like logs, haystacks like haystacks, rubbish like rubbish. Coming out of the banks, it flooded where the meadows, and where the field of green oats, already golden rye, white flowering buckwheat. In the villages that are lower, she crept up to the gardens.
In Ostanikha, by the river, bathhouses nestled on the bank, sort of rickety huts on chicken legs. Now only the roofs of these baths remained above the water, and everyone was waiting for them to be lifted and carried.
But still, our river is too small to seriously harm people even in such a flood. Suppose a kitten plays out in a hut: well, he will tear off the curtain, well, he will break a glass or a vase, well, what else can he do wrong? Still, a kitten, not an elephant, not a bear or a tiger.
On the contrary, it was interesting for everyone to look at such unusual water for our places. Some said: "I wish we always had such a river!" The old people remembered when - fifty or seventy years ago! - they saw such water. Praying old women wailed: "It poured for one night, but what happened! And if for forty days and forty nights, there would have been a flood. Wait a little longer, the abysses of heaven will open up! .." fumbles with a basting in the hope of catching a chub or a pike.
I walked along the coast, not thinking about anything, admiring a truly extraordinary spectacle.
Tall alder bushes now peeped out like tops. One could see how the water bends the bushes to one side along its course, and they bounce, try to straighten up, taking advantage of the slightest relaxation of the muddy streams, and therefore bow incessantly as if wound up.
The old willow was flooded to the very crown. Various birds scurried along its branches, screaming anxiously and plaintively. Probably, quite a few cozy inhabited nests (in time and with chicks) were flooded with this water.
In one place I stopped, staring at the wrapping. The water in this place hit the curved shore, went in circles. Along the edge of the closure, the movement of water was slow, as if lazy, but closer to the middle it got faster and faster, finally forming a swirling water pit, into which everything that floated past was irresistibly drawn: straw, hay, chips and even bubbles that were born there, where the water was combed by the branches of flooded trees.
Control dictation No. 1 on the topic "Repetition of what was studied in grades 5-6."
The sky before the storm.
Clouds are creeping from behind the mountains. There are more and more of them. The storm drives passers-by along the streets, presses them against the fences and walls of houses. Trees groan and bend. How weak young trees tremble and beat in gusts of wind! People rush home, closing windows and shutters more firmly and securely.
Here comes the distant rumble of thunder. Soon its peals are heard more and more often, merge into one common rumble. Here, from behind the mountains, a large black cloud begins to crawl out like a gloomy veil.
A fiery snake of lightning flashes along the entire edge of the cloud. She wriggles and evokes horror with her bizarre movements. Behind her, a thunderclap shakes the frozen city.
And the cloud is growing, pouring out from behind the mountains, covering the sky. A cloud has spread over the city. Lightning draws the sky, thunder strikes shake the area. Torrential rain poured down.
Tasks: 1. Perform a phonetic analysis of the word "rain".
2. Perform a morphemic analysis of the word "torrential".
3. Perform a morphological analysis of the word "gushed".
4. Write out the first sentence from the text, perform parsing.
Control dictation No. 2 on the topic "Communion".
The town soon disappeared behind a high wall of winter crops, and I walked along a narrow path through the rustling rye. Overhead was a high blue sky. I inhaled the aroma of blossoming bread and herbs growing on the borders. His head was full of fragmentary thoughts, jumping from one subject to another, but returning to the upcoming hunt.
An hour and a half of the way passed unnoticed. I have already approached the abandoned and long unplowed fragments of the steppes, which captivated me from the first time. Here ahead on the horizon a strip of distant boundless sky opened up. The wall of loaves broke off and went to the sides. A wide flat lowland of the steppe, long untouched by the plow, opened up before me.
The steppe, illuminated by the slanting rays of the setting sun, sparkled and shimmered with colorful spots of flowering grasses. There were blues, whites, crimson reds, bright yellows, and mixed, often indeterminate colors. A gentle breeze stirred these colored spots. The intricately changing pattern lit up with a bright sparkling light when the flowers were turned towards the rays of the sun. Countless butterflies fluttered over the blooming steppe.
Tasks: 1. In the entire text, highlight the participle suffixes.
2. Perform a morphological analysis of the word "rustling".
3. Find in the text and graphically designate one participial turnover with the word being defined.
Control dictation No. 3 on the topic "Gernal participle".
On the edge.
Early matinees, having grabbed the foliage of trees, painted it with gold, purple and crimson colors.
Confused among themselves and overtaking each other, dead leaves silently crumble from them. Small, almost crimson leaves of aspens, trembling in the wind, are sown endlessly. Large bright golden maple leaves, swaying lazily and waving from side to side, slowly fly off the branches.
Carefully examining each suspicious place, knocking with a powerful beak on the bark, a large black woodpecker rises up the white birch, leaning over the pond. Sensing the proximity of the prey, he long and persistently hammers the tree trunk, crumbling from old age. From his mighty blows, pieces of broken bark fly to the ground strewn with leaves. So he got to the goal and, sitting motionless, pecks at something, hastily swallowing tasty food.
Tasks: 1. In the entire text, highlight the suffixes of participles.
2. Perform a morphological analysis of the word "swallowing".
3. Find in the text and graphically designate one adverbial turnover with the word being defined.
Control dictation No. 4 on the topic "Preposition".
Walking one day in the forest, we found a chick that fell out of the nest. There was a colony of thrushes all around. Despite the desperate cries of the old birds, the uncle easily caught the chick and threw it into the air. The chick waved its wings, flew helplessly a little, poked into the ground and hid under a bush of grass.
Then my uncle took us aside. For ten minutes we watched the chick from behind the bushes. But adult birds did not fly up to him. The chick continued to sit on the ground and announced its existence with a weak squeak. Then the uncle suggested that we take the chick home and try to get him out.
Soon Drozdik became completely tame. He lost all fear of people and always rushed to meet us. We bought him a large cage, and he jumped on the perches in it, even flapping his wings. Drozdik was very gluttonous and ate everything we gave him with pleasure.
Tasks: 1. In the entire text, find and write prepositions, mark the words to which they refer.
2. Write out and disassemble morphologically one derivative preposition.
Control dictation No. 5 on the topic "Union".
A brown bird fluttered out from under a bird cherry bush, which I immediately recognized as a nightingale. I would not have paid attention to him if the bird had not suddenly begun to sing. Before me was a first-class singer.
Now it was necessary to run to Pyotr Alekseevich to inform him of the find. My companion knew that I was already beginning to understand nightingale singing. So he immediately followed me. Soon we were there. Pyotr Alekseevich was also delighted with the singing of my nightingale.
A rare bird! - he said, looking with a smile at my face blurred with happiness.
We decided to catch my nightingale first, and then return to the one he had chosen for himself.
At night, we sat in front of the fire, throwing dry branches into the fire. Suddenly, a nightingale trill sounded very close to us. What a luck! The nightingale sang already on the first day of captivity!
Tasks: 1. In the entire text, find and inscribe unions.
2. Write out one coordinating and one subordinating union from the text.
Control dictation No. 6 on the topic "Particle".
Road to childhood.
I know this road by heart favorite poem, which I never memorized, but which itself was remembered for a lifetime. I could walk on it with my eyes closed. If pedestrians weren’t hurrying along the sidewalks, and cars and trolleybuses weren’t rushing along the pavement ...
Sometimes in the morning I leave the house with the guys who run along the same road in the early hours. It seems to me that just now my mother will lean out of the window and shout after me from the fourth floor: “You forgot your breakfast on the table!” But now I rarely forget anything, and even if I did, it would not be very decent to catch up with me shouting from the fourth floor: after all, I have not been a schoolboy for a long time.
I remember one day my best friend For some reason, Valerik counted the number of steps from home to school. Now I take fewer steps: my legs have become longer. But the journey continues longer, because I can no longer, as before, rush headlong.
Tasks: 1. Write down three to five examples of words of all service units speech.
2. Indicate the discharges of the written out particles.
Control dictation No. 7 on the topic "Repetition of what was studied in grade 7."
Thunderstorm.
A storm was coming. Flashes of lightning that did not stop for a minute poured an unbearable light over the entire steppe. For several hours the thunder rumbled incessantly. Soon the whole sky was covered with dark, gloomy clouds, and only in the west, in their breaks, stripes of blue could be seen here and there. Drops of rain brought by higher currents of air were already falling to the ground.
I cannot say that I was frightened, but the oncoming thunderstorm gave rise to some kind of vague, inexplicable anxiety in me. In addition, the air, saturated with discharges of electricity, had an exciting effect. The behavior of the dog, which for some reason was alarming, did not go out of my head either.
And at that moment, a huge fiery column of lightning pierced into a haystack almost next to me: “Bang!” I jumped up and closed my eyes. Wow! It even seemed to me that the earth trembled!
Tasks:1. Find in the text and designate graphically the participial turnover.
2. Underline the participle, designate the word to which it refers.
3. Write out two examples of service and special parts of speech from the text.
Control summary.
Summer flood.
The rain poured down in silence. From a monochromatic, gelatinous sky. The noise was all night. By morning it was quiet. Only abundantly dripped from the trees.
The rain had passed, and by the river the festivities began. Never, with the most amicable melting of the deepest snows, has there been such a flood on our river. But still, our river is too small to seriously harm people even in such a flood.
I walked along the coast, not thinking about anything, admiring a truly extraordinary spectacle. At one point I stopped. The water in this place hit the curved shore, went in circles. A monotonous weak squeak began to reach my ears. I listened and realized that not one creature was squeaking, but several, and somewhere very close, almost at my feet. Having taken a few steps along the shore, I listened again and then I saw a tiny dimple at the toe of my rubber boot, which seemed to me to be a huge one. In the hole, huddled in a ball, tiny creatures floundered, helpless, like all cubs.
I wanted to know whose cubs they were, and I began to look around. From behind the top of the alder, convulsively, continuously raking its paws in order to stay in one place, the desman was looking at me with its black beads. Meeting my eyes, she quickly, frightened, swam to the side, but an invisible connection held her as if by a thread. She returned to the alder bush and again began to look at me, rowing tirelessly in one place.
The muskrat stayed on the water about two meters from me, which is unbelievable for this extremely cautious, extremely
shy animal. It was heroism, it was the self-sacrifice of the mother, but it could not be otherwise: after all, the cubs screamed so anxiously and so invitingly!
I finally left, so as not to interfere with the mother to do her eternal business - to save her children.
(V. Soloukhin)
Assignment: write a concise presentation, retaining the author's emotionally expressive form.
Let us turn to the text of V. Soloukhin from the OBZ about the flood. By the way, this text made a lot of noise in 2015, when many graduates who wrote an essay on it received 0 points according to the K4 - K1 criteria, since they did not talk about maternal self-sacrifice, as experts expected, but about the war as the most terrible disaster . Be careful when formulating the problem: write about the one that is in the center of the author's attention, and not about the one that he touches on in passing.
(1) Rains were sprinkled every day. (2) In the end, the earth was so saturated with water that it did not take any more moisture. (3) That is why, when a wide, dark hole formed in the sky and abundant, summer-like warm water gushed from there, our quiet, peaceful river immediately began to swell and swell. (4) Streams rushed along each ravine, along each ditch, jumping over the roots of trees, over stones, as if they had the only task - to rush to the river as quickly as possible and take part in its revelry.
(5) I walked along the coast, not thinking about anything, admiring a truly extraordinary spectacle. (6) Never, with the most amicable melting of the deepest snows, has there been such a flood on our river, such a water field as now. (7) Tall alder bushes now peeked out of the water with their tops alone.
(8) A monotonous weak squeak began to reach my ears, so weak that at first I even heard it, but somehow did not pay attention, somehow it could not “peep” to me. (9) Maybe he got confused at first with the squeak and chirp of birds, and then he stood out to grab attention.
(10) Having taken a few steps along the shore, I listened again and then I saw at the toe of my rubber boot, which seemed to me a huge rubber boot, a tiny dimple left by a cow's hoof.
(11) In the hole, huddled in a ball, tiny creatures floundered, helpless, like all cubs.
(12) The cubs were the size of adult mice, or, rather, of moles, because they looked more like them in the color of their wet fur coats. (13) There were about six of them, and each tried to take the top, so that they blindly mixed all the time in a ball, trampling and trampling the weakest.
(14) I wanted to know whose cubs they were, and I began to look around. (15) From behind the top of the alder, convulsively, continuously raking its paws in order to stay in one place (the current carried it away), the muskrat looked at me with its black beads. (16) Having met my eyes, she quickly, frightened, swam to the side, but an invisible connection with a cow's hoof kept her as if on a thread. (17) Therefore, the muskrat swam not into the distance, but in a circle. (18) She returned to the alder bush and again began to look at me, rowing tirelessly in one place.
(19) The desman stayed on the water about two meters from me, which is unbelievable for this extremely cautious, extremely shy animal. (20) It was heroism, it was the self-sacrifice of the mother, but it could not be otherwise: after all, the cubs screamed so anxiously and so invitingly!
(21) I finally left, so as not to interfere with the mother to do her eternal business - to save her children. (22) Yielding to involuntary sentimentality, I thought that I also have children. (23) I tried to imagine a disaster that, in terms of scale, unexpectedness, revelry and horror, would be for us like this flood for a poor family of animals, when children would have to be dragged in the same way to one, to another, to a third place, and they would die on the way from the cold and from the struggle for existence, and would scream and call me, and I would not be able to approach them.
(24) Having gone through everything that my imagination suggested, I settled on the most terrible human disaster. (25) Its name is war.
(26) The rain intensified from minute to minute, it hurt me painfully in the face and hands. (27) A black, rainy night descended on the earth. (28) Water was still flowing in the river.
(29) In the sky, above the rain, above the darkness of the night, so that there was barely a sound, no one knows where and no one knows where the birds created from fire and metal flew.
(30) If they could now look from their height at the earth and at me walking on it, then I would seem to them much smaller, much more microscopic than half an hour ago, the blind, chilled muskrat cubs lying on the very edge of the earth seemed to me and elements.
(According to V.A. Soloukhin)
And now let's try to write an essay on it, using the proposed plan.
1 paragraph: problem
How does a mother show her love for her children? What is she ready for if the children are in danger? It is these questions that the author reflects on in the text proposed for analysis.
2nd paragraph: comment
In the first part of the story, V. Soloukhin describes the situation of a summer flood, which is not dangerous for humans, but is a real natural disaster for some animals. Then - tiny, helpless muskrat cubs, who got into trouble because of the rampant elements (first example from text). And finally - their mother, who, at the sight of a person, did not swim away, but tried to stay in one place, struggling with a strong current, since "an invisible connection with a cow's hoof held her like on a thread" (second example from text).
3 paragraph: position of the author
The author sincerely admires the behavior of the usually cautious and timid animal: "It was heroism, it was the self-sacrifice of the mother, but it could not be otherwise: after all, the cubs screamed so anxiously and so invitingly!"
4 paragraph: agreement + thesis
It is difficult to disagree with the position of the author. Indeed, a mother becomes fearless if her children are in danger. At such moments, maternal instinct makes her forget about her safety, and this cannot but cause admiration.
5 paragraph: literary argument
For parents, the safety of their children will always come first. To be convinced of this, let us recall the work of I.S. Turgenev "Sparrow", in which the bird rushed to save its sparrow from the dog that had fallen out of the nest. Although the dog seemed like a huge monster to the sparrow, he could not sit on a high safe branch: the power of parental love threw him out of there.
6 paragraph: argument from life experience
And how many stories are connected with animals who, risking their own lives, and sometimes sacrificing it, saved their cubs from the fire. The famous cat Scarlett became famous all over the world after she carried five newborn kittens out of the garage on fire. Her paws and muzzle were already burned, her eyes were damaged, but the animal repeatedly returned to the room in flames to save all the kids.
7 paragraph: conclusion
Summarizing what has been said, we can conclude that maternal love knows no barriers. It is stronger than the fear of death. After all, if the children are in danger, the mother is ready to sacrifice everything she has, even her own life.