Late autumn stories for children. Mini-essay about autumn for schoolchildren
Signs of autumn.
Autumn comes after summer. The sun rarely shines in the sky dark clouds. It often rains coldly. Yellow, red, brown leaves fall from the trees to the ground. A golden carpet of leaves rustles underfoot. Birds fly to warmer climes. People put on jackets, raincoats, and boots because it is cool and damp outside.
1. Answer the questions:
What time of year comes after summer? How does the sun shine? What clouds are in the sky? What is the precipitation like in autumn? What color leaves fall to the ground? Where do the leaves fall from? Where do the birds fly? How do people dress? Why?
2. Retell.
Autumn walk.
It was autumn. Tanya and grandmother were walking in the park. It was cool outside. The sun was not visible. Dark clouds were floating across the sky. The birds were not heard; they flew south. Multi-colored leaves fell on wet ground. Tanya collected yellow and red leaves, and grandmother collected brown ones. Suddenly there was a light drizzle. Grandma opened the umbrella and they went home.
1. Answer the questions:
Where did Tanya and grandma walk? How was it on the street? What clouds were floating across the sky? Why can't you hear the birds? What leaves fell to the ground? What leaves did Tanya collect? And what kind of grandmother? Why did Tanya and grandmother go home?
2. Retell.
For mushrooms.
Vasya lives in a village near the forest. One day Vasya was out picking mushrooms. Beautiful in the forest in autumn. A boy walks on dry yellow grass. Either he will find a boletus, or an aspen boletus, or a family of honey mushrooms at the stump. Vasily is tired. I sat down on a tree stump to rest. A mushroom picker is sitting, chewing a pie. Suddenly a cone fell from a branch. The boy raised his head and saw a squirrel. She stored nuts for the winter. Vasya returned home with a full basket of mushrooms and in a good mood.
1. Answer the questions:
Where does Vasya live? Where is he going? Where do mushrooms grow? What kind of grass does Vasya walk on? What mushrooms does Vasya find? Where did Vasya sit down to rest? Where did the cone fall from? Who did the boy see on the branch? What was the squirrel doing? How is the story finished?
2. Retell.
Cat on a walk.
The cat was lying on the dry yellow grass. He will lie on his left side, turn over on his right side - he just can’t get warm. The autumn sun does not warm well. By evening, dark clouds appeared in the sky. There was a light drizzle. The wind blew. Multi-colored leaves began to fall from the trees. Children in jackets, hats, and rubber boots splashed through the puddles. It became cool and damp outside. The cat hurried in warm home to their owners.
1. Answer the questions:
Where was the cat? Why did the cat roll over? How does the autumn sun warm? When did the clouds appear? What clouds appeared in the sky? What did the rain do? What happened to the leaves? How were the children dressed? How was it on the street? Where did the cat hurry?
2. Retell.
Autumn clothes.
Autumn was approaching, and mother bought new clothes for her children.
Sasha's mom bought a blue jacket with gray stripes, and Dasha - a red jacket with pink stripes. The blue jacket has a hood and the red jacket does not have a hood. Sasha's jacket has a zipper, and Dasha's has buttons. The blue jacket has four pockets, and the red jacket has two.
Sasha will put a hat with ties on her head, and Dasha will wear a beret with a pompom.
1. Answer the questions:
What are "new things"? What color is Sasha's jacket? And Dashina? What color are the stripes on Dasha's jacket? Which jacket has a hood? What kind of fasteners are on Sasha’s jacket? And on Dashina? How many pockets does Sasha's jacket have? What will Sasha wear on her head? And Dasha?
2. Retell.
Autumn in the forest.
Zhenya with mom and dad were in autumn forest.They saw a squirrel on a tall green tree. The squirrel deftly jumped from branch to branch and strung mushrooms onto twigs. The nimble animal will dry the mushrooms and put them in different pantries. In winter, the squirrel will find its reserves and begin to gnaw.
Suddenly a hedgehog ran at Zhenya’s feet. He carried a lot of dry leaves on his needles. The hedgehog will sleep all winter in a warm hole.
Zhenya knows that the bear will also sleep in winter. In the fall, he will find a den under the roots of a tree, line it with dry moss and sleep there until spring.
But the bunny doesn't have a mink. He will exchange his summer gray coat for a warm winter white one and will gnaw on the branches of the bushes. This is how he will spend the winter.
Zhenya came home and painted a picture of animals preparing for winter.
1. Answer the questions:
Where was Zhenya? Who did Zhenya go to the autumn forest with? Who did Zhenya meet at the beginning of his walk? What was the squirrel doing? Why does a squirrel store mushrooms? Who ran at Zhenya's feet? What did the hedgehog carry on his needles? What will a hedgehog do in winter? How does a bear prepare for winter? How will the hare spend the winter? What did Zhenya do when he came home?
2. Retell.
Favorite time of year.
Grandma, what is your favorite time year? - Olya asked.
- Autumn.
- Why? - the granddaughter was upset. - In autumn it rains, the trees are left without clothes, there are puddles on the ground, damp, dirty, cool.
- No, Olenka, the harvest of vegetables and fruits ripens in the fall. In autumn there are a lot of mushrooms in the forest. Only in the fall can we salt mushrooms, cucumbers, and tomatoes. And we will cook delicious food from ripe apples fragrant jam. When winter comes, we will be happy to feast on our reserves.
Olya smiled and agreed with her grandmother.
What time of year do you like?
1. Answer the questions:
What is your granddaughter's name? What did Olya ask? What is grandma's favorite time of year? How did the girl tell you about autumn? Why didn't the grandmother agree with her granddaughter?
2. Retell.
Stories about autumn for secondary children school age. Stories by Ivan Turgenev and Anton Chekhov. Stories about autumn nature, about fallen yellow leaves, about the fact that nature is slowly falling asleep and preparing for winter.
Ivan Turgenev
FOREST IN AUTUMN
And how good this same forest is late autumn when the woodcocks arrive! They do not stay in the middle of nowhere: you need to look for them along the edge of the forest. There is no wind, and there is no sun, no light, no shadow, no movement, no noise; V soft air spilled autumn smell, similar to the smell of wine; a thin fog stands in the distance above yellow fields. Through the bare, brown branches of the trees, the motionless sky peacefully whitens; Here and there the last golden leaves hang on the linden trees. The damp earth is elastic underfoot; the tall dry blades of grass do not move; long threads glisten on the pale grass. The chest breathes calmly, but a strange anxiety enters the soul. You walk along the edge of the forest, looking after the dog, and meanwhile your favorite images, your favorite faces, dead and alive, come to mind, long-dormant impressions suddenly awaken; the imagination soars and flutters like a bird, and everything moves so clearly and stands before the eyes. The heart will suddenly tremble and beat, passionately rush forward, then it will irrevocably drown in memories. All life unfolds easily and quickly, like a scroll; A person owns all his past, all his feelings, his powers, his entire soul. And nothing around him bothers him - no sun, no wind, no noise...
And an autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when the birch tree, like fairy tree, all golden, beautifully drawn against the pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than the summer, small aspen grove everything sparkles right through, as if it’s fun and easy for her to stand naked, the frost is still white at the bottom of the valleys, and fresh wind quietly stirs and drives away the fallen, warped leaves - when they joyfully rush along the river blue waves, rhythmically raising the scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-hidden by willows, and, dappling the light air, pigeons quickly circle above it...
Anton Chekhov
BELATED FLOWERS
(Excerpt)
The day is clear, transparent, slightly frosty, one of those autumn days on which you willingly put up with the cold, the dampness, and the heavy galoshes. The air is so transparent that the beak of a jackdaw sitting on the highest bell tower is visible; it is completely saturated with the smell of autumn. You will go out into the street, and your cheeks will be covered with a healthy, wide blush, reminiscent of a good Crimean apple. Long-fallen yellow leaves, patiently waiting for the first snow and trampled underfoot, turn golden in the sun, emitting rays like chervonets. Nature falls asleep quietly, peacefully. No wind, no sound. She, motionless and dumb, as if tired from spring and summer, basks under the warming, caressing rays of the sun, and, looking at this beginning peace, you yourself want to calm down...
G. Skrebitsky “Four Artists. Autumn"
For her work, the Autumn Artist took the brightest colors and first of all went into the forest with them. There she began to work on her painting.
She covered the birches and maples with lemon yellow. And the aspen leaves turned red like ripe apples. The aspen tree became all bright red, all burning like fire.
Autumn wandered into forest clearing. A hundred-year-old oak tree stands in the middle of the clearing, standing, shaking its thick leaves.
Autumn thinks: “We need to dress the hero in bloody copper armor.”
This is how I dressed the old man.
He looks - and not far away, at the very edge of the clearing, thick, spreading linden trees have gathered in a circle, their branches lowered down. A heavy headdress made of gold brocade is most suitable for them.
Autumn decorated all the trees and even the bushes in its own way, in an autumnal way: some dressed in yellow, others in bright red. She only didn’t know how to decorate the pine and spruce trees. After all, they don’t have leaves on their branches, but needles, and you can’t paint them. Let them remain the same as they were in the summer.
So the pines and spruce trees remained dark green in summer. And this made the forest even brighter, even more elegant in its colorful autumn attire.
Autumn went from the forest to the fields, to the meadows, removed the golden grain from the fields, and in the meadows swept away the fragrant haystacks into tall haystacks, like towers.
The fields and meadows became empty, even wider and more spacious. And the shoals stretched above them in the autumn sky migratory birds: cranes, geese, ducks...
K. Paustovsky “Badger Nose”
The lake near the shores was covered with heaps of yellow leaves. There were so many of them that we couldn't fish. The fishing lines lay on the leaves and did not sink.
I had to take an old boat out to the middle of the lake, where the water lilies and blue water seemed black as tar.
There we caught colorful perches. They fought and sparkled in the grass, like fabulous Japanese roosters. We pulled out tin roach and ruffes with eyes like two small moons. The pikes flashed their teeth, small as needles, at us.
It was autumn in the sun and fogs. Through the fallen forests, distant clouds and thick blue air were visible. At night, in the thickets around us, low stars moved and trembled.
There was a fire burning in our parking lot. We burned it all day and night to drive away the wolves - they howled quietly along the far shores of the lake. They were disturbed by the smoke of the fire and cheerful human cries.
We were sure that the fire scared the animals, but one evening in the grass by the fire some animal began to snort angrily. He was not visible. He ran around us anxiously, rustling the tall grass, snorting and getting angry, but didn’t even stick his ears out of the grass.
Potatoes were being fried in a frying pan, a sharp, tasty smell emanated from them, and the animal obviously came running to this smell.
Was with us little boy. He was only nine years old, but he tolerated spending the night in the forest and the cold of autumn dawns well. Much better than us adults, he noticed and told everything.
He was an inventor, but we adults really loved his inventions. We couldn’t, and didn’t want to, prove to him that he was telling a lie. Every day he came up with something new: he either heard fish whispering, or saw ants making a ferry for themselves across a stream of pine bark and cobwebs.
We pretended to believe him.
Everything that surrounded us seemed extraordinary: the late moon shining over the black lakes, and high clouds like mountains of pink snow, and even the familiar sea noise of tall pines.
The boy was the first to hear the animal’s snort and hissed at us to keep quiet. We became silent. We tried not to even breathe, although our hand involuntarily reached for the double-barreled gun - who knows what kind of animal it could be!
Half an hour later, the animal stuck out a wet black nose from the grass, similar to a pig’s snout. The nose sniffed the air for a long time and trembled with greed. Then a sharp muzzle with black piercing eyes. Finally the striped skin appeared.
A small badger crawled out of the thicket. He pressed his paw and looked at me carefully. Then he snorted in disgust and took a step towards the potatoes.
It fried and hissed, splashing boiling lard. I wanted to shout to the animal that he would get burned, but I was too late - the badger jumped to the frying pan and stuck his nose into it...
It smelled like burnt leather. The badger squealed and rushed back into the grass with a desperate cry. He ran and screamed throughout the forest, broke bushes and spat in indignation and pain.
There was confusion on the lake and in the forest. Without time, the frightened frogs began to scream, the birds were alarmed, and a pound-sized pike hit the shore like a cannon shot.
In the morning the boy woke me up and told me that he himself had just seen a badger treating its burnt nose. I didn't believe it.
I sat down by the fire and listened sleepily to the morning voices of the birds. In the distance, white-tailed sandpipers whistled, ducks quacked, cranes cooed in the dry moss swamps, fish splashed, and turtle doves cooed quietly. I didn't want to move.
The boy pulled me by the hand. He was offended. He wanted to prove to me that he didn't lie. He called me to go see how the badger was being treated.
I reluctantly agreed. We carefully made our way into the thicket, and among the thickets of heather I saw a rotten pine stump. He smelled of mushrooms and iodine.
A badger stood near a stump, with its back to us. He picked up the stump and stuck his burnt nose into the middle of the stump, into the wet and cold dust.
He stood motionless and cooled his unfortunate nose, while another little badger ran and snorted around him. He was worried and pushed our badger in the stomach with his nose. Our badger growled at him and kicked with his furry hind paws.
Then he sat down and cried. He looked at us with round and wet eyes, moaned and licked his sore nose with his rough tongue. It was as if he was asking for help, but we could do nothing to help him.
A year later, on the shores of the same lake, I met a badger with a scar on its nose. He sat by the water and tried to catch the dragonflies rattling like tin with his paw.
I waved my hand at him, but he sneezed angrily in my direction and hid in the lingonberry bushes.
Since then I haven't seen him again.
I. Sokolov-Mikitov “Leaf Faller”
In the autumn, when the golden leaves fell from the trees, three little hares were born to an old hare in a swamp.
Hunters call autumn hares deciduous. Every morning the little hares watched the cranes walk through the green swamp, and how the lanky cranes learned to fly.
“I wish I could fly like that,” the smallest bunny said to his mother.
- Don't be stupid! - the old hare answered sternly. -Are hares supposed to fly?
Late autumn came, it became boring and cold in the forest. Birds began to gather to fly to warm countries. Cranes are circling over the swamp, saying goodbye to their sweet green homeland for the whole winter. The bunnies hear it as if the cranes are saying goodbye to them:
- Farewell, farewell, poor leaf fallers!
The noisy cranes flew to distant lands. The lazy bears lay down in warm dens; curled up into balls and fell asleep spiny hedgehogs; The snakes hid in deep holes.
It became even more boring in the forest. The deciduous bunnies began to cry:
- Will something happen to us? We'll freeze in the swamp in winter.
- Don't talk nonsense! - the bunny said even more sternly. - Do hares freeze in winter? Soon thick, warm fur will grow on you. When snow falls, we will be warm and cozy in the snow.
The bunnies calmed down. Only one, the smallest Leaf Faller - the bunny does not give anyone peace.
“Stay here,” he told his brothers. “And I alone will run after the cranes to warm countries.”
And the little bunny quietly ran away from his native nest to look for the crane’s warm countries.
The Leaf Faller ran and ran through the forest and came running to a remote forest river. He sees beavers building a dam on the river. Gnawing with sharp teeth thick tree, the wind will blow, the tree will fall into the water. The river has been dammed, you can walk along the dam.
- Tell me, guys, why are you bringing down such big trees? - asks the Leaf Faller of the beavers.
“That’s why we cut down trees,” he says. old beaver, - to prepare food for the winter and build a new hut for our little beavers.
— Is it warm in your hut in winter?
“It’s very warm,” answers the gray-haired Beaver.
“Please take me to your hut,” asks the little bunny.
Beaver and Beaver looked at each other and said:
- We can take you. Our little beavers will be happy. But can you swim and dive?
- No, hares don’t know how to swim or dive. But I will soon learn from you, I will swim and dive well.
“Okay,” says Beaver, “here is our new hut.” It's almost ready, all that's left is to finish the roof. Jump straight into the hut.
Leaf Faller jumped into the hut. And the beaver hut has two floors. Below, near the water, food for the beavers was prepared - soft willow branches. Fresh hay is laid on top. In a corner on the hay, fluffy beavers sleep sweetly.
Before the little hare had time to take a good look around, the beavers put a roof over the hut. One carries gnawed sticks, the other covers the roof with silt. His thick tail slaps loudly, like a plasterer with a spatula. The beavers are working hard.
The beavers put up a roof and it became warm in the hut. Deciduous Man remembered his bright nest, his old mother hare and little brothers.
“I’ll run into the forest,” thinks Listopadnichek. “It’s dark, damp, and you could freeze.”
Soon the beavers returned to their hut. We shook ourselves downstairs and dried ourselves.
“Well,” they say, “how are you feeling, little bunny?”
“Everything is very good with you,” says Listopadnichek. “But I can’t stay here for long.” It's time for me to go to the forest.
“What to do,” says Beaver, “if necessary, go.” There is now only one way out of our hut - under water. If you have learned to swim and dive well, you are welcome.
Leaf Faller stuck his paw into the cold water:
- Brrr! Oh, what cold water! It’s better, perhaps, that I stay with you all winter, I don’t want to go into the water.
“Okay, stay,” says Beaver. - We are very happy. You will be a nanny for our beavers, you will bring them food from the pantry. And we will go to the river to work and cut down trees. We are hardworking animals.
Deciduous Man remained in the beaver's hut. The beavers woke up, squeaked, and got hungry. Listopadnichek brought a whole armful of soft willow branches for them from the pantry. The beavers were very happy and began to gnaw on the willow branches - very quickly. Beavers have sharp teeth, only splinters fly. They gnawed, squeaked again, asking for food. The Leaf Faller suffered from dragging it out of the pantry heavy branches. The beavers returned late and began to clean up their hut. Beavers love cleanliness and order.
“Now,” they said to the little bunny, “please, sit down and eat with us.”
- Where is your turnip? - asks Listopadnichek.
“We don’t have turnips,” the beavers answer. — Beavers eat willow and aspen bark.
The little hare tasted beaver food. The hard willow bark seemed bitter to him.
“Oh, apparently I won’t see the sweet turnip again!” - thought the leaf-falling bunny.
The next day, when the beavers left for work, the beavers squeaked - they were asking for food.
Leaf Faller ran to the pantry, and there, by the hole, an unfamiliar animal was sitting, all wet, with a huge fish in its teeth. Leaf Faller got scared terrible beast, began to pound the wall with his paws with all his might, calling for the old beavers.
The beavers heard the noise and immediately appeared. The old Beaver drove the uninvited guest out of his hole.
“This is a robber otter,” said Beaver, “she does a lot of harm to us, spoils and ruins our dams.” Just don’t be timid, little bunny: the otter won’t show up in our hut any time soon. I gave her good blows.
Beaver kicked out the otter, and he himself went into the water. And again the Leaf Faller remained with the beavers in a damp, dark hut.
Many times he heard how she approached the hut, sniffing, sly fox as an angry lynx wandered near the hut. The greedy wolverine tried to break the hut.
For long winter The Little Leaf Bunny suffered a lot of fear. He often remembered his warm nest, his old mother hare.
Once a big disaster happened on a forest river. Early spring The water broke through the large dam built by the beavers. The hut began to flood.
- Get up! Get up! - Old Beaver shouted. “It was the otter that ruined our dam.”
The beavers rushed down - splashing into the water! And the water is getting higher and higher. She wet the bunny's tail.
- Swim, little bunny! - says old Beaver. - Swim, save yourself, otherwise you will perish!
Leaffall's tail is shaking with fear. I was very afraid cold water timid little bunny.
- Well, what should I do with you? - said old Beaver. - Sit on my tail and hold on tight. I will teach you to swim and dive.
The little hare sat down on a wide beaver tail, holding on tightly with his paws. The Beaver dived into the water, wagged his tail - he could not resist, like a bullet, the Leaf Faller flew out of the water. Willy-nilly, I had to swim to the shore myself. He went ashore, snorted, shook himself - and headed as fast as he could to his native swamp.
And the old hare with her babies slept in her nest. Leaf Faller was delighted and clung to his mother.
The hare did not recognize her little hare:
- Ay, ay, who is this?
“It’s me,” said Listopadnichek. - I'm from the water. I'm cold, I'm very cold.
The little hare sniffed, licked and put her to sleep in a warm nest. He fell asleep soundly next to his mother in his native nest.
In the morning, hares from all over the swamp gathered to listen to the Deciduous Man.
He told his brothers and sisters how he followed cranes to warm countries, how he lived with beavers, how old Beaver taught him to swim and dive.
Since then, throughout the forest, Leaffall has become known as the bravest and most desperate hare.
N. Sladkov “Autumn is on the threshold”
- Forest dwellers! - the wise Raven shouted one morning. — Autumn is at the threshold of the forest, is everyone ready for its arrival?
- Ready, ready, ready...
- But we’ll check it now! - Raven croaked. - First of all, autumn will let the cold into the forest - what will you do?
The animals responded:
- We, squirrels, hares, foxes, will change into winter coats!
- We, badgers, raccoons, will hide in warm holes!
- We, hedgehogs, bats Let's fall into a deep sleep!
The birds responded:
- We, the migratory ones, will fly away to warmer lands!
- We, sedentary people, will put on down padded jackets!
“Secondly,” the Raven shouts, “autumn will begin to rip off the leaves from the trees!”
- Let him rip it off! - the birds responded. - The berries will be more visible!
- Let him rip it off! - the animals responded. - It will be quieter in the forest!
“The third thing,” the Raven continues, “autumn will click the last insects with frost!”
The birds responded:
- And we, blackbirds, will fall on the rowan tree!
- And we, woodpeckers, will begin to peel the cones!
- And we, goldfinches, will get to the weeds!
The animals responded:
- And we will sleep more peacefully without mosquito flies!
“The fourth thing,” the Raven buzzes, “autumn will become boring!” He will catch up with dark clouds, let down tedious rains, and incite dreary winds. The day will be shortened, the sun will be hidden in your bosom!
- Let him pester himself! - the birds and animals responded in unison. - You won’t keep us bored! What do we care about rain and winds when we are wearing fur coats and down jackets! Let's be well-fed - we won't get bored!
The wise Raven wanted to ask something else, but he waved his wing and took off.
He flies, and beneath him is a forest, multi-colored, motley - autumn.
Autumn has already crossed the threshold. But it didn’t scare anyone at all.
N. Sladkov “Why November is piebald”
A snow cloud poked its head out from behind the forest and caused a commotion in the forest!
The White Hare saw a cloud and squealed:
- Hurry, cloud, hurry! I have been white for a long time, but there is still no snow! Just look, the hunters will be on the lookout!
The cloud heard the Hare and moved into the forest.
- You can’t, cloud, go back, go back! - shouted the gray partridge. “If you cover the ground with snow, what will I eat?” My legs are weak, how can I get to the ground?
The cloud moved back.
- Let's go ahead, there's no point in backing away! - Bear grumbled. - Fill up my den quickly: cover it from the wind and frost, hide it from the eyes of strangers!
The cloud paused and again moved into the forest.
- Whoa-oh, whoa-oh! - the wolves howled. - If you add snow, you won’t be able to walk or run. And us wolves are fed by our feet!
The cloud began to sway and stopped.
And from the forest there is a scream and a howl.
- Fly to us, cloud, cover the forest with snow! - some shout.
- Don't you dare pour out the snow! - others howl. - Turn back!
The cloud goes forward and then back. It will start snowing, and then it will stop.
That’s why November is piebald: sometimes rain, sometimes snow, sometimes frost, sometimes thaw.
Where the snow is white, where the ground is black.
Neither winter nor autumn!
E. Nosov “Forest owner”
In loving memory of I.I. Shishkina
During leaf fall, I go to the forest to stock up on hazel rods. In winter you can’t get to the hazel grove: there are meter-long snowdrifts all over the bushes. In the summer, in the dense greenery, it is difficult to spot a suitable system. When you cut it down, you’ll see that the butt is bent, or the top is forked.
But in the fall you will choose what you need. The hazel tree is bright, every branch is visible. You can look around all the peaks without rushing. The hazel tree has this peculiarity: it begins to drop leaves from the highest shoots.
Grandfather Prosha volunteered to show a place with good hazel. He trotts ahead of me. The tops of his rubber boots slap loudly on his skinny calves. The shaggy cap of a shot grouse flashes above
bushes: one ear droops, the other, turned away, throws up with every step. Grandfather is glad to have a chance to get some exercise, and therefore is fussy and chatty without restraint.
I am also glad to meet you soon autumn forest. I go, as if to an art gallery, to take another look at the long-familiar canvases that are put on display every year golden autumn. The eye is wary and greedy: you don’t want to miss anything.
At the very edge of the forest, in the thickets of swamp heather, a lake flashed with dark water the color of strongly brewed tea. On its surface is a colored mosaic of leaves blown by the wind. An old peak humps along the shore, abandoned as unnecessary. This is Polenov.
And on the slope I recognize Levitan. Thin-legged aspen trees shyly crowd around the edge, whispering about something with all their leaves at once. The leaves flutter in the wind and flicker, now turning towards the sun with gold, now with silver on the inside. And it gets entangled in this living, swaying lace, and the clear blue of the autumn sky also trembles.
Behind the young aspen tree rises a multi-columned façade old forest. From its depths, as from a museum building, it pulls subtle odors antiquities. Among the trunk-columns there was a resounding silence, and you could hear a leaf dropped by a tree falling and rustling, clinging to the branches.
At the edge of the forest, the grandfather stops, pulls off his cap and hastily crosses himself. A custom that has come down from ancient times, from pagan superstition. I, too, slowly take off my hat, but not like a pagan. I enter under the arches of the forest, as if into the halls of Shishkin’s unique genius.
We walk past hanging canvases along a colorful forest path. It either turns yellow with lemon birch leaves, or turns pink with euonymus scree, or turns orange and crimson when we make our way under the aspen trees. The patterned leaves of the rowan tree have become crimson-red, and to match them, only even brighter, the heavy clusters of berries are flaming. The path leads further and further, the eyes begin to get tired of the bright colors, and there is still no end to this careless waste.
In the depths, behind the fires of young maple trees, hurried, limping steps can be heard. Grandfather Prosha points the raised ear of his hat towards the sound and listens.
- What a hare!
- Who?
- Do you feel it falling on one leg? It's him!
- Who is he?
- Who, who!.. Master, that’s who!
I can’t hold back my grin, and this makes the old man angry.
- And there’s nothing to laugh about, dear man. Apparently you never had to deal with him.
- What about you?
- And with me it was...
Grandfather slipped the ax into his belt more comfortably and again trotted along the path, slapping his boots.
“That same winter I went to look for wood at the gate. He cut down an oak tree, cut off the top, and threw the log on a sled. I was afraid to turn back along the well-traveled road. I walked straight across the crust. The crust was hard, March, and held tightly. I'm going, then. Here's a forty ahead of you that's dropped to a branch. She twirled her tail and chattered. A scolding bird, worse than a woman. Nothing will be hidden from her. The mouse won’t even run through. I walk as if I don’t see. And she flies from tree to tree and carries me all over the forest. This is not good. He waved his hat. “Shoo,” I shout, “damned!” I didn’t notice her chatter and ran into a person. She told me, you scoundrel. The man nods and beckons with his finger. I'm approaching. A sort of decrepit old man. A short fur coat in patches, it’s not sheepskin that comes out of the holes, but it looks like moss is sticking out. “Show me,” he says, “how to go to Sukhoi Dol.” I figured: our village will be straight ahead, which means Sukhoi Dol will be left hand. “Here,” I say, “go along this road.” The old man bowed and glanced sideways at the felled tree. “It was lying around,” I lied, “I picked it up so it wouldn’t get lost.” Didn't say anything. He just looked at him with frozen ice, shook his head and hobbled away.
- And do you think he was? - I asked.
- By God, he is! He walked away, and fell on his leg. Who should be! After that I barely got out of the forest. God knows where the fog came from. Nothing to be seen. And then the crust was corroded. I wander through the forest, my legs get stuck, my sled sinks up to my belly. And behind me I hear: run, run... Fortunately, I thought of throwing away the wood. It was only then that I got out onto the road. Yes, not to his village, but to Sukhoi Dol and came with lights... And you, dear man, laughed. The owner does not like mischief in the forest. Every tree, every bird counts for him. Vigilantly protects. He doesn’t sit still, he walks through the forest, counting. Stealing Lesina or destroying any living creatures unnecessarily is a lost cause...
- Why does he fall on his leg?
“They say they hurt me during the war.” The Germans are forested heavy guns were fired upon. Trees were uprooted like that. For three days there was smoke like a black cloud over the forest. Well, that means he was caught by a piece of shrapnel. But only later did the Germans get a lot of punishment for this evil. Those who were among the partisans said that an entire German regiment got lost in the forest. The partisans then killed everyone. And this is what I mean: this could not have happened without the owner. He's not to be trifled with.
You can expect any kind of writing from grandfather Prosha. He comes up with ideas so selflessly that he himself seems to believe his own words. Sometimes you don’t understand whether it’s true or fiction. But the story about the forest owner is not his invention, unless the grandfather added that he “met nose to nose” with him. This legend is as old as the forest itself that gave birth to it. Over time, it rolled around among the people like a stone in sea water, the old was erased, a new one was invented in its place, like the fact that the forest owner was wounded in the last war. I liked it, this tale about a goblin who, limping, wanders around his domain, counts the trees, protects the forest from desecration. Nice tale!
I bend down and pick up fresh, untrodden leaves from the ground. I choose the largest, brightest. They are dappled everywhere, like strokes of paint on the palette of a great painter.
And my own legend about the forest owner begins to take shape...
I see his face, the simple tanned face of a lumberjack framed by a mossy beard. Gray eyes with a keen eye. Dry needles that had fallen from the tree became entangled in graying hair.
I hear him walking through the autumn forest, stepping softly on a multi-colored carpet of leaves, tapping his cane on the trunks like a woodpecker and whispering with the rustle of falling leaves: “This has no price... Take care of this, people.” His kind eyes glow with joy, his large, tired hands feel the young shoots, rummage through the lace of foliage. And a disturbed hare does not run away from him in fear, and a magpie does not scream as if at a stranger. He is at home, in his wonderful workshop.
So he sits down on a stump, lays out paints at his feet and begins miraculous magic... And I, enchanted, look at these canvases familiar from childhood: the gloomy spruce wilds, the bronze-trunked pine forests, bright, sun-dappled oak groves, chamomile edges, forest lanes with puddles in the ruts... All this is not in gilded frames, not in museum halls. These pictures unfold before me in all their breadth. They appear on both sides of the path that leads Grandfather Prosha and me into the very heart of the forest. We walk in silence, and each carries his own legend: he is about the devil, I am about the man.
Alice Mathieson
Golden autumn
It gets cooler in autumn. The days are already shorter because it gets dark early. Trees are shedding leaves. They are very beautiful, they have rich colors: red, yellow, orange. It blows more and more often strong wind, spins the leaves and easily lowers them to the ground. At times the sky becomes cloudy and it rains. I love this time of year, you can walk through the park and admire the golden autumn nature.Dasha Larionova
Golden autumn
Autumn is very beautiful time year. It’s a little sad because the leaves are flying away, but standing under the colorful leaves is pleasant and fun. Nature says goodbye to us until spring; chestnuts and acorns shed their unusually beautiful fruits. Yellow maple leaves They look golden in the sun, making the park even brighter and sunnier. You can collect all these autumn gifts and make them beautiful craft, which will remind us of this wonderful time all winter.Autumn smells of apples and rowan berries. There is nothing more beautiful than a carpet of colorful leaves. What a pleasure it is to run through it. I love you, my golden autumn! And I will miss you very much.
Semyon Vinogradov
Golden autumn
Autumn is the best bright time year. All the trees dressed up in colorful outfits. Maples - in red caftans. Birches - in yellow sundresses. Oaks - in brown frock coats. Everything shines in the bright autumn sun. There is such beauty that you can’t take your eyes off it. I really like golden autumn. In autumn I like to walk in the forest.Yura Zaitsev
Warm autumn
Autumn has come. The sun gilded the tops of the trees, painted the leaves variegated, bright, beautiful colors. Leaves hang on the trees like gold coins. A warm autumn breeze blows, and the leaves turn into small airplanes. The cloud will fly by, the wind will die down, and the leaves will fall onto the water and turn into autumn boats. Other leaves will fall to the ground and cover it with a colorful carpet. When you walk on it, the leaves rustle like fried chips. And it comes right away good mood. And I want to roll around in the leaves. In the sky, a flock of birds flies south, saying goodbye to us until next spring.Gosha Kataev
Autumn
In every season, nature is beautiful in its own way. This year the beginning of autumn gave us many bright and sunny days. The sky is not yet overcast. The leaves on the trees make us happy different colors. Red, yellow, green, orange leaves dressed the forest in bright dresses.
Warm days at the beginning of autumn are called " Indian summer"In September and October, people pick mushrooms and cranberries. Children make crafts from leaves, cones, and acorns.
Unfortunately, colorful and warm autumn ends quickly. The leaves are falling, it is raining more and more often, and the first snow may even fall. Nature is preparing for winter.
Sasha Penzin
Autumn
Autumn is very beautiful time. Only in autumn there is such a diverse palette of colors. The leaves change their usual green to red, brown, yellow, burgundy. And in mid-autumn the trees shed their leaves to rest in winter. At this time it is pleasant to wander around the park, when the foliage rustles under your feet. We also love to go to the forest to pick autumn mushrooms. Main autumn mushrooms- honey mushrooms. But I don’t like that it often rains in the fall. And they change our plans for the walk. But in the fall there is an “Indian summer”. It’s as if nature wants to bring summer back. The sun is shining brightly and I can’t even believe that it’s already autumn.
Denis Gorlov
Golden autumn
Autumn is a wonderful time of year. The azure sky attracts the eye with its purity and cloudlessness. The sun, like a golden ball, is rolling across the sky. Trees change their “clothes”. Leaves, like multi-colored coins, cover the branches. The grass reaches out to the last warm rays of the sun. It seems that all nature is quiet and enjoying this beautiful times“golden autumn” before the harsh cold winter.
The nights are darker, the morning fogs are cooler. The dew does not dry until noon, the beads sparkle in spider webs like a necklace.
Necklaces, necklaces - autumn's gift for housewarming!
How long has it been since elegant round dances of butterflies and golden midges circled through the meadows, flowers were deafened by the chirping of grasshoppers, and a bumblebee was suffocating in its velvet fur coat with a lush collar! Nowadays everything is different. The grass was mown, the haystacks were darkened by the rain. There are no butterflies to be seen, the violins of the fiddler grasshoppers have fallen silent, and the fur coat has become just right for the bumblebees. No one on the late flowers, only bumblebees, and they seem to have raised their thick black collars higher...
In the morning, power line wires are touched by swallows. Not today, tomorrow they will be on their way.
The viewing is conducted by chirping killer whales. Is everything assembled? Is everyone ready? As if on command, they all take off at once, make a circle or two over the fields, meadows, and lower the wires again.
It's time to go, it's time. Goodbye, villages on hillocks! See you in the spring, fields and meadows of your native land!
Ukhorki
Everyone has their own hiding places, everyone hides as best they can. There are times when you can’t wait and don’t even think about it! Once in the fall, a beautiful mourning bird, a golden-eyed frog and a warty toad got into the habit of hiding under my canoe. I’ll turn the boat over in the morning, and the hangers-on are in different directions: a butterfly in flight, a frog in the water, a toad in the grass. When I return from fishing, I turn the boat over for the night - the next morning there is the same trinity under it!
And then I was sorting out the woodpile - so the lizards hid among the firewood. Once settled in a birdhouse forest mice- the birdhouse turned into a mouse house. The shingles in the yard were piled up - bats lived in it. Every evening we flew out of the cracks and caught mosquitoes. Under the old trough, a family of shrews took root; so they snuck back and forth in the evenings. Voles were hiding in the haystack behind the house, and every night an owl was on duty in the haystack: would any of them stick out? A spider in an eggshell has settled in a mansion of white-stone veins. And one dung beetle hid in a mushroom! He gnawed a hole in the leg and squirmed around inside. Until it ended up in the back of the car along with the mushroom. Even though he wasn’t called a milk mushroom...
Helpers are waiting
Trees, bushes and grasses are in a hurry to arrange their offspring.
Pairs of lionfish hang from the branches of the maple; they have already separated and are waiting to be torn off and picked up by the wind.
Herbs also await the winds: thistle, on the tall stems of which lush clusters of grayish silky hairs emerge from dry baskets; cattail, raising its stems with a brown coat of tops above the marsh grass; a hawk, whose fluffy balls on a clear day are ready to fly apart at the slightest breath.
And many other herbs, the fruits of which are equipped with short or long, simple or feathery hairs, are also waiting for the wind.
In empty fields, along the sides of roads and ditches, they wait, not for the wind, but for four-legged and two-legged creatures: burdock with dry hooked baskets tightly packed with faceted seeds, a string of black three-horned fruits that so readily pierce stockings, and tenacious bedstraw, small round fruits which they cling to and roll into the dress so much that they can only be pulled out with a wisp of hair.
Beginning of autumn
Today at dawn one lush birch tree emerged from the forest into a clearing, as if in a crinoline, and another, timid, thin, dropped leaf after leaf onto the dark fir tree. Following this, until more and more dawned, different trees They began to appear to me differently. This always happens at the beginning of autumn, when after a lush and common summer, a big change begins and the trees all begin to experience leaf fall in different ways.
I looked around me. Here is a hummock, combed by the paws of black grouse. It used to happen that in the hole of such a hummock you would certainly find a feather of a black grouse or wood grouse, and if it was pockmarked, then you knew that a female was digging, and if it was black, it was a rooster. Now in the pits of the combed hummocks there lie not bird feathers, but fallen yellow leaves. And here is an old, old russula, huge, like a plate, all red, and the edges are curled up from old age, and a yellow birch leaf is floating in the dish.
Aspen trees are cold
On a sunny day in autumn, at the edge of a spruce forest, young multi-colored aspen trees gathered, densely one to the other, as if they were there, in spruce forest, it became cold and they went out to warm themselves at the edge of the forest, just like in our villages people go out into the sun and sit on the rubble.
Autumn dew
It dawned on me. Flies are knocking on the ceiling. The sparrows are herding. Rooks are in the harvested fields. Forty families graze on the roads. The ridges are cold and grey. Another dewdrop in the axil of a leaf sparkles all day.
Windy day
This fresh wind knows how to speak tenderly to the hunter, just as the hunters themselves often chatter among themselves from an excess of joyful expectations. You can speak and you can remain silent: conversation and silence are easy for a hunter. It happens that a hunter is animatedly telling something, but suddenly something flashed in the air, the hunter looked there and then: “What was I talking about?” I don’t remember, and that’s okay: you can start something else. So the hunting wind in the fall constantly whispers about something and, without finishing one thing, moves on to another; Then I heard the muttering of a young black grouse and stopped, the cranes were screaming.
Leaf fall
A hare came out of the dense fir trees under a birch tree and stopped when he saw a large clearing. He didn’t dare go straight to the other side and walked around the entire clearing from birch tree to birch tree. So he stopped and listened. If you are afraid of something in the forest, it is better not to go while the leaves are falling and whispering. The hare listens: it seems to him as if someone is whispering from behind and sneaking. It is possible, of course, for a cowardly hare to pluck up courage and not look back, but here something else happens: you were not afraid, did not succumb to the deception of falling leaves, and just then someone took advantage of you and quietly grabbed you in the teeth from behind.
Rowan turns red
The morning is sparse. There are no cobwebs at all in the clearings. Very quiet. I can hear the yellowbird, the jay, and the thrush. The rowan tree turns very red, the birch trees begin to turn yellow. White butterflies, slightly larger than moths, occasionally fly over the mown grass.
Autumn leaves
Just before sunrise, the first frost falls on the clearing. Hide, wait at the edge - what is happening there, in a forest clearing! In the twilight of dawn, invisible forest creatures come and then begin to spread white canvases throughout the clearing. The first rays of the sun remove the canvases, and it remains on white green place. Little by little, everything white disappears, and only in the shade of trees and hummocks do little white wedges remain for a long time.
In the blue sky between the golden trees you won’t understand what’s going on. The wind blows away leaves or small birds gather in flocks and fly to warm, distant lands.
The wind is a caring owner. Over the summer it will visit everywhere, and even in the most dense places there will not be a single unfamiliar leaf left. But autumn has come - and the caring owner is harvesting his harvest.
The leaves, falling, whisper, saying goodbye forever. It’s always like this with them: once you’ve torn yourself away from your native kingdom, then say goodbye, you’re dead.
Last flowers
Another frosty night. In the morning, in the field I saw a group of surviving blue bells - a bumblebee was sitting on one of them. I tore off the bell, the bumblebee did not fly off, I shook off the bumblebee, it fell. I put him under a hot beam, he came to life, recovered and flew. And on the cancer neck, in exactly the same way, the red dragonfly became numb overnight and before my eyes recovered under the hot beam and flew away. And grasshoppers in huge numbers began to fall from under our feet, and among them were cracklings, flying up with a crash, blue and bright red.
Forest in autumn
And how beautiful this same forest is in late autumn, when the woodcocks arrive! They do not stay in the middle of nowhere: you need to look for them along the edge of the forest. There is no wind, and there is no sun, no light, no shadow, no movement, no noise; an autumn smell, similar to the smell of wine, is diffused in the soft air; a thin fog stands in the distance over the yellow fields. Through the bare, brown branches of the trees, the motionless sky peacefully whitens; Here and there the last golden leaves hang on the linden trees. The damp earth is elastic underfoot; the tall dry blades of grass do not move; long threads glisten on the pale grass. The chest breathes calmly, but a strange anxiety enters the soul. You walk along the edge of the forest, looking after the dog, and meanwhile your favorite images, your favorite faces, dead and alive, come to mind, long-dormant impressions suddenly awaken; the imagination soars and flutters like a bird, and everything moves so clearly and stands before the eyes. The heart will suddenly tremble and beat, passionately rush forward, then it will irrevocably drown in memories. All life unfolds easily and quickly, like a scroll; A person owns all his past, all his feelings, his powers, his entire soul. And nothing around him bothers him - no sun, no wind, no noise...
And an autumn, clear, slightly cold, frosty day in the morning, when the birch, like a fairy-tale tree, all golden, is beautifully drawn in the pale blue sky, when the low sun no longer warms, but shines brighter than the summer, a small aspen grove sparkles through and through, as if it is fun and easy for her to stand naked, the frost is still white at the bottom of the valleys, and the fresh wind gently stirs and drives away the fallen, warped leaves - when blue waves joyfully rush along the river, regularly lifting scattered geese and ducks; in the distance the mill knocks, half-hidden by willows, and, dappling the light air, pigeons quickly circle above it...
Autumn day in a birch grove
I was sitting in a birch grove in the fall, around mid-September. Since the morning there has been light rain, followed at times by warm weather. sunshine; the weather was changeable. The sky was either covered with loose white clouds, then suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then, from behind the parted clouds, azure appeared, clear and gentle...
I sat and looked around and listened. The leaves rustled slightly above my head; by their noise alone one could find out what time of year it was then. It was not the cheerful, laughing trembling of spring, not the soft whispering, not the long talk of summer, not the timid and cold babbling late autumn, but barely audible, drowsy chatter. A weak wind pulled slightly over the tops. The interior of the grove, wet from the rain, was constantly changing, depending on whether the sun was shining or covered with clouds; She then lit up all over, as if suddenly everything in her was smiling... then suddenly everything around her turned slightly blue again: the bright colors instantly faded... and stealthily, slyly, the smallest rain began to fall and whisper through the forest.
The foliage on the birches was still almost all green, although noticeably paler; only here and there stood one young girl, all red or all gold...
Not a single bird was heard: everyone took refuge and fell silent; only occasionally did the mocking voice of a tit ring like a steel bell.
Autumn
The chirping swallows have long since flown south, and even earlier, as if on cue, the swift swifts disappeared.
IN autumn days The boys heard the passing cranes crowing in the sky as they said goodbye to their dear homeland. They looked after them for a long time with some special feeling, as if the cranes were taking summer with them.
Quietly talking, the geese flew to the warm south...
Getting ready for cold winter People. The rye and wheat were cut down a long time ago. We prepared feed for the livestock. They are picking the last apples from the orchards. They dug up potatoes, beets, and carrots and put them away for the winter.
The animals are also preparing for winter. The nimble squirrel accumulated nuts in the hollow and dried selected mushrooms. Little voles brought grains into the holes and prepared fragrant soft hay.
In late autumn, a hardworking hedgehog builds its winter lair. He dragged a whole heap of dry leaves under an old stump. You will sleep peacefully all winter under a warm blanket.
The autumn sun warms less and less often, more and more sparingly.
Soon, soon the first frosts will begin.
Until spring, Mother Earth will freeze. Everyone took from her everything she could give.
Forest in autumn
The Russian forest is beautiful and sad in the early autumn days. Bright spots of red-yellow maples and aspens stand out against the golden background of yellowed foliage. Slowly circling in the air, light, weightless yellow leaves fall and fall from the birches. Thin silver threads of light cobwebs stretched from tree to tree. Late autumn flowers are still blooming.
The air is transparent and clean. The water in forest ditches and streams is clear. Every pebble at the bottom is visible.
Quiet in the autumn forest. Only fallen leaves rustle underfoot. Sometimes a hazel grouse whistles subtly. And this makes the silence even more audible.
It's easy to breathe in the autumn forest. And I don’t want to leave it for a long time. It’s good in the autumn flowery forest... But something sad, farewell is heard and seen in it.
Antonov apples
I remember the early fine autumn. August had warm rains at the right time, in the middle of the month. I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves and - the smell Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it’s as if there is none at all. There is a strong smell of apples everywhere.
By night it becomes very cold and dewy. Having inhaled the rye aroma of new straw and chaff on the threshing floor, you cheerfully walk home for dinner past the garden rampart. Voices in the village or the creaking of gates can be heard unusually clearly in the chilly dawn. It's getting dark. And here’s another smell: there’s a fire in the garden and there’s a strong wafting of fragrant smoke from cherry branches. In the darkness, in the depths of the garden, there is a fabulous picture: as if in a corner of hell, a crimson flame is burning near a hut, surrounded by darkness...
“Vigorous Antonovka - for a fun year.” Village affairs are good if the Antonovka crop is cropped: that means the grain crop is cropped... I remember a fruitful year.
At early dawn, when the roosters were still crowing, you would open a window into a cool garden filled with a purple fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly here and there... You would run to the pond to wash your face. Almost all the small leaves have flown off the coastal vines, and the branches show through in the turquoise sky. The water under the vines became clear, icy, and seemingly heavy. It instantly drives away nighttime laziness.
You enter the house and first of all you will smell the smell of apples, and then others.
Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floor have been empty, the weather, as usual, has changed dramatically. The wind tore and tore the trees for days on end, and the rains watered them from morning to night.
Shined coldly and brightly in the north over the heavy leaden clouds liquid blue sky, and from behind these clouds the ridges of snowy mountains-clouds slowly floated out, the window into the blue sky closed, and the garden became deserted and boring, and the rain began to fall again... at first quietly, carefully, then more and more thickly and finally turned into downpour with storm and darkness. A long, anxious night was coming...
From such a scolding the garden emerged completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow quiet, resigned. But how beautiful he was when it came again clear weather, clear and cold days of early October, farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees until the first frost. The black garden will shine through the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for winter, warming itself in the sunshine. And the fields are already turning sharply black with arable land and brightly green with bushy winter crops...
You wake up and lie in bed for a long time. There is silence throughout the whole house. Ahead lies a whole day of peace in the already silent, winter-like estate. Slowly get dressed, wander around the garden, find an accidentally forgotten cold and wet apple in the wet leaves, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others.
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