Spring books for elementary school. Works about spring for children
Stories about spring, stories about spring nature. Cognitive spring stories about spring for children primary school.
Stories for elementary school children
Spring is red
In the garden, the willow blossomed white puffs. The sun is shining hotter and hotter. During the day, drops drip from the roofs, long icicles melt in the sun. The roads have become dark and crumbling.
The ice on the river turned blue.
The snow has melted on the roofs. The ground was exposed on the hills and near trees and walls.
Sparrows are jumping merrily in the yard, spending the winter, happy and happy.
- Alive! Alive! Alive!
White-nosed rooks have arrived. Important, black, they walk on the roads.
It’s as if someone has woken up in the forest and is looking blue eyes. The spruce trees smell like resin, and the multitude of smells makes you dizzy. The first snowdrops spread last year's leaves with their green petals.
These days, the body of the birch trees is filled with sweet juice, the branches turn brown and the buds swell, and clear tears ooze from every scratch.
The very hour of awakening comes elusively. The first willow, and behind it - you accidentally look away - the whole forest became green and tender.
It’s so dark at night that no matter how hard you try, you can’t even see your own fingers. On these nights, the whistling of countless wings can be heard in the starless sky.
The beetle buzzed, hit a birch tree and fell silent. A mosquito blows over the swamp.
And in the forest, a ferret hits a dry leaf - rustle! whoosh! And the first snipe ram began to play in the sky.
The cranes were racing in the swamp.
The gray wolf, hiding in the bushes, walked into the swamp.
The first frozen woodcock stretched across the brightening sky, swirled over the forest and disappeared.
The capercaillie plays louder and louder on the bitch. He plays and listens for a long time, stretching his neck. A cunning hunter standing motionless, waiting new song- then they fell near the wood grouse even from a cannon.
The first to meet the sun, the lark rose from the boundary like a column, higher and higher, and his golden song poured onto the ground. He will be the first to see the sun today.
And behind him, in the clearings, with their tails outstretched, the black grouse began to dance in a round dance. Far away at dawn their booming voice can be heard.
The sun has risen - you won’t have time to gasp. The smallest star windows closed first. Only one big star remained burning over the forest.
Then the sky turned golden. The breeze blew and smelled like forest violet.
A shot rang out at dawn and rolled for a long time through fields, forests, and copses. For a minute everything fell silent, and then it poured out even more loudly.
A flowing white fog hung over the river and meadow.
The tops of their heads turned golden - a strong and cheerful someone screamed in the forest! — the dazzling sun rose above the earth.
The sun laughs and plays with its rays. And I don’t have the strength, looking at the sun, to restrain myself.
- Sun! Sun! Sun! - birds are singing.
- Sun! Sun! Sun! - flowers open.
(I. Sokolov-Mikitov)
Spring
The sun is shining brighter and brighter over the fields and forest.
The roads in the fields darkened, the ice on the river turned blue. White-nosed rooks have arrived and are in a hurry to straighten out their old, disheveled nests.
Streams rang down the slopes. Resinous, fragrant buds swelled on the trees.
The guys saw the first starlings at the birdhouses. They shouted merrily and joyfully:
- Starlings! The starlings have arrived!
A white hare ran out to the edge of the forest; sat down on a tree stump and looked around. Ears on the top of a timid hare's head. The white hare looks: a huge moose with a beard has come out to the edge of the forest. He stopped and listened to the elk... And in the deep forest the bear took the little bear cubs born in the den for their first walk. The cubs have not yet seen spring, they do not know the big dark forest. They don’t know what the awakened earth smells like.
In a clearing, near a forest stream, funny, clumsy bear cubs are playing merrily. With fear they look into the cold running water, climb onto stumps and old driftwood thawed in the sun...
Geese are flying in slender schools, reaching from the south; The first cranes appeared.
- Geese! Geese! Cranes! - the guys shout, raising their heads.
Now they're spinning over wide river The geese went down to rest on the water-filled wormwood.
Other flying geese saw the geese resting on the ice and began to approach them. The other geese were happy to see their comrades. A joyful cry rolled far over the river...
Spring is getting warmer, noisier and more beautiful.
While warming up in the forest, silky soft puffs blossomed on willow branches. Busy ants ran over the hummocks.
And over the clearing where the snowdrops had opened, the first butterfly fluttered.
(I. Sokolov-Mikitov)
Arrival of finches
From the arrival of the finches to the cuckoo, all the beauty of our spring passes through, subtle and complex, like a bizarre interweaving of branches of an undressed birch tree.
During this time, the snow will melt, the waters will rush away, the earth will turn green and be covered with the first, dearest flowers to us, the resinous buds on the poplars will crack, the fragrant sticky green leaves will open, and then the cuckoo will fly. Only then, after all the wonderful things, will everyone say: “Spring has begun, how lovely!”
(M. Prishvin)
Birch trees are blooming
When the old birch trees are blooming and the golden catkins hide from us the already open small leaves above, below on the young ones everywhere you see bright green leaves the size of a raindrop, but still the whole forest is still gray or chocolate - that’s when you come across bird cherry and it amazes you how its leaves on the gray seem large and bright. The bird cherry buds are already ready. The cuckoo sings in the most luscious voice. The nightingale is studying and adjusting. The damn mother-in-law is charming at this time, because she has not yet risen with her thorns, but lies on the ground big, beautiful star. Poisonous yellow flowers emerge from under the black forest water and immediately open above the water.
(M. Prishvin)
Spring
It was now impossible to look at the sun - it poured down from above in shaggy, dazzling streams. By blue-blue sky clouds floated like heaps of snow. Spring breezes smelled of fresh grass and birds' nests.
In front of the house, large buds burst on the fragrant poplars, and chickens moaned in the baking sun. In the garden, grass climbed out of the heated earth, piercing the rotting leaves with green stalks, and the entire meadow was covered with white and yellow stars. Every day there were more birds in the garden. Blackbirds ran between the trunks - dodgers walked. There is an oriole in the linden trees, big bird, green, with yellow, like gold, fluff on its wings, fussing and whistling in a honeyed voice.
As the sun rose, on all the roofs and birdhouses the starlings woke up, began to sing in different voices, wheezed, whistled, now with a nightingale, now with a lark, now with some African birds, which they had heard enough of over the winter overseas, mockingbirds, and out of tune terribly. A woodpecker flew like a gray handkerchief through the transparent birches; sitting on the trunk, he turned around, raising his red crest on end.
And so on Sunday, on a sunny morning, in the trees that had not yet dried out from the dew, a cuckoo crowed by the pond: with a sad, lonely, gentle voice she blessed everyone who lived in the garden, starting with the worms.
Spring is a real miracle. Spring is a time of rebirth and new beginnings. Nature is waking up after hibernation. Streams began to run, drops dripped from the roof, ice broke on rivers and lakes. Buds are swelling on the trees, young grass is emerging from the ground, and the first snowdrops are blooming in thawed patches. Migratory birds return to their homeland, they build nests and sing their spring songs.
To create a spring atmosphere, children need to be introduced to the great works of Russian and foreign writers and poets. It is not for nothing that many poets and writers loved spring so much and glorified it in their works.
So what works of poets and writers about spring should you read with your child?
First of all, works by: A.S. Pushkina, A.A. Feta, F.I. Tyutcheva, A. Maykova, A.N. Tolstoy, S.A. Yesenina, A.A. Akhmatova, B.L. Pasternak M.M. Prishvina, L.N. Tolstoy, I.S. Turgeneva, S.A. Aksakov, I.A. Bunin, V. Bianki, S. Gorodetsky, B. Zakhoder, S. Marshak, A. Barto and others.
Poems about spring for kids can be read in the Seasons section -
These poems are small in size and quite accessible to memorize.
With a careful and emotional reading of poems, even Small child will feel the state of spring nature that the poet conveyed in him. And teach the child to see in a new way the world and love your nature.
Poems about spring for older children, written by different authors, will reveal all the beauty of spring nature. This section contains best poems written by Russian and foreign poets of different times, but they are all united by a love for their nature, which they wanted to convey to their readers. Here is a small list of those authors and poems that are presented in the section:
Poems about spring
F.I. Tyutcheva – “ Spring waters», « Spring thunderstorm", "Winter is angry for a reason";
A.A. Feta – “Spring”, “ Spring rain", "More fragrant bliss of spring", "First lily of the valley";
I.A. Bunina - “After the Flood”;
E. Baratynsky “Spring, spring! How clean the air is!”;
S. Yesenina - “Bird cherry”;
A. Maykova - “Swallow”;
K. Balmont - “The buds have unraveled on the willow”;
K.S. Aksakova - “Spring”, “Spring Night”;
L.N. Tolstoy - “Spring is Outside”;
excerpt from the novel “Eugene Onegin” by A.S. Pushkin - “Driven by spring rays”;
poems by S. Gorodetsky, B. Zakhoder, S. Marshak and other Russian poets;
E. Baratynsky “Spring, spring!..” (abbr.) and others.
Stories about spring
V. Bianchi - “Mosquitoes are dancing, “Hare, braid, bear and spring.” From the book “Forest There Were and Fables”: “Sinichkin Calendar (Spring Months)”, From the book Bird talk: “Birds talking in spring.” Small stories under the general title: “Spring”.
S. Pokrovsky - “Among Nature”, “The Black Queen and Her People” and “ Seasonal phenomena in nature", Sladkov Nikolay - " Spring streams", "The Praised Swamp", "The Willow Feast",
A.I. Solzhenitsyn - “The Fire and the Ants.”
MM. Prishvin - “Springs of Berendey”, “Spring Miniatures”, “Seasons”,
Sokolov-Mikitov Ivan Sergeevich - “Spring”, Hello, Spring!, “Spring in the Forest”, “ In early spring”, “Red Spring”, “How Spring Came to the North”, “Sounds of Spring”, from the collection “Blue Days”: “Spring in Chun”, from the collection “In the Homeland of Birds”: “Messengers of Spring”, “The Coming of Spring ”, “Vevna in the Tundra” and other stories
K. Ushinsky - The pranks of the old woman of winter
V. Suteev - “Spring”. A collection of stories about Masha and Vanya Knopochkin: How the winter ended.
Paustovsky Konstantin Georgievich - Dictionary of native nature
Grigorovich Dmitry Vasilievich - “Wonderful time”
Abramov Fedor Andreevich - stories about Spring
Raisa Rahmi - Spring drops
Gift for mom
Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich - Stories of Spring
First leaves
Winged guests
Spring the artist
Happy Bug
On the threshold of spring
Excerpt from the story “The Rooks Have Arrived”
Spring miniatures - M. M. Prishvin
Russian writers about spring:
L.N. Tolstoy “Spring has come” (excerpt from the novel “Anna Karenina”, “Anna Karenina” part two, chapter XII), Spring
Tolstoy Alexey Nikolaevich – Spring
Gogol Nikolai Vasilievich - Spring! Spring! And she’s happy about everything!
Turgenev Ivan Sergeevich-Forest and steppe
A.P. Chekhov - “In Spring”, It’s already quite spring (excerpt)
Kuprin Alexander Ivanovich - Childhood years of Bagrov the grandson (excerpt), Steppe in spring
Tales of Spring
Russian folk tale-How Spring overcame Winter
Denis Emelyanov - Mouse and Snowdrop
Hans Christian Andersen - Story of the Year, Snowdrop
Tales about snowdrop
Nikolay Sladkov - Spring streams, Spring joys. From the collection “Forest hiding places. Stories and fairy tales” stories for every month. Forest tales.
Georgy Skrebitsky - Tale of Spring
Sergey Kozlov - Clean birds, Forest thaw, Spring fairy tale, How the Hedgehog went to meet the dawn, Unusual spring.
A.N. Ostrovsky "Snow Maiden" - spring fairy tale in four acts with a prologue.
Victoria Goloborodova “Like a bunny went to greet spring.”
Tamara Cheremnova “Vesnyanka”.
Evgeny Filimonov “Tales of the Forest And what is Spring?” and Vesennik
Maria Shkurina “Spring has come” (meditative fairy tale), “The first spring miracle”.
Irina Polulyakh with her daughter Angelina “Spring mood”.
Akimova Galina Veniaminovna The Adventures of Venka the Little Crow.
Smirnova S. B. “Spring Tale”.
Emilia Russkikh “Spring Tale”.
Mikhail Grigoriev “The Tale of Spring and Dwarves.”
Elena Sokolova “When spring comes.”
Natalya Nikolaeva “What does spring smell like?”
Victoria Stosman “One Spring”.
Lyudmila Ulanova “From the stories of the girl Lelka - About spring.”
Nellie Gogus “The First Dandelion”, “Spring Rain or New Horizons”.
Mikhail Tryamov “Pashkina Spring”.
Olga Popova “The Tale of Sprouts”.
Ilyukhov V. “Fairy tale spring forest” (The play is a fairy tale).
“Spring Tale” based on the book by E. Grudanov “Fairytale Casket”.
This list should be considered indicative.
Read with your children, listen, watch, spring themes.
Story about Spring:
In spring, the sun rises higher and shines brighter, the days become longer.
The snow is melting everywhere, stormy, sonorous streams are running.
The ice on rivers, ponds and lakes becomes covered with cracks, becomes loose, darkens and melts, and ice drift begins. Ice floes float along the river, break with a crash, and melt water floods the meadows and lowlands. The flood begins.
Icicles hang from the roofs; at noon, when the sun gets hotter, the icicles begin to melt, and spring drops ring.
Tree sap, warmed by the spring sun, rises from the roots to the swelling buds. The willow buds have fluffed up, and although there are no leaves yet, the whole tree seems to be shrouded in a delicate yellow-green cloud. Earrings on alder and hazel become lighter and fluffy. In the forests, fields and meadows, spring flowers open: coltsfoot, snowdrop, lungwort.
Insects wake up after a long winter. Returning from warm regions to their homeland migratory birds. The rooks arrive first, then the starlings, wagtails, and larks.
Ends hibernation animals. Adult animals molt, winter fur is replaced by summer fur, and squirrels and hare change the color of their coats.
A mother bear with her cubs comes out of the den. A badger comes out of a hole. The she-wolf gives birth to cubs.
In spring people have a lot of work. In the field, the soil is prepared for crops and rye, barley, and millet are sown. Early crops are sown in gardens: dill, parsley, carrots, onions.
The gardens are covered with white and pink lace capes - apple trees, cherries, and plums are blooming.
Poems about Spring
No wonder winter is angry,
Its time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.
And everything started to fuss,
Everything forces Winter to get out -
And larks in the sky
The ringing bell has already been raised.
Winter is still busy
And he grumbles about Spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it just makes more noise... .
The evil witch went crazy
And, grab the snow,
She let me in, running away,
To a beautiful child...
Spring and grief are not enough:
Washed in the snow
And only became blusher
Against the enemy.
(F. Tyutchev)
***
Drops
At noon I listen to the drops,
She murmurs like a bird's trill.
The crystal bell rings,
Running from the roof over the porch.
Drops gurgle, ring, sing,
It breaks snow and ice.
She doesn’t care about a big snowdrift,
She runs like a living stream.
I will clear the way for the stream,
So that he can look at the world.
***
in spring
Spring has a lot of work,
The rays help her:
They drive together on the roads
Talking streams,
They melt the snow, break the ice,
They warm everything around.
From under the pine needles and blades of grass
The first sleepy beetle crawled out.
Flowers on the thawed patch
The golden ones have blossomed
The buds are full and swollen
Bumblebees fly from the nest.
Spring has a lot of worries,
But things are looking up:
The field became emerald
And the gardens are in bloom.
***
Spring
Look, spring is coming,
The cranes are flying in a caravan,
The day is drowning in bright gold,
And the streams in the ravines are noisy.
Soon you will have guests,
Look how many nests they will build!
What sounds, what songs will flow
Day after day from dawn to dawn.
(I. S. Nikitin)
***
Spring song
The snow is no longer the same -
He darkened in the field.
The ice on the lakes is cracked,
It's like they split it.
The clouds are moving faster
The sky became higher.
The sparrow chirped
Have fun on the roof.
It's getting darker every day
Stitches and paths
And on the willows with silver
The earrings glow.
(S. Marshak)
***
Spring
Spring is coming to us,
Quick steps,
And the snowdrifts are melting
Under her feet.
Black thawed patches
Visible in the fields.
That's right, very warm
Spring has legs.
(I. Tokmakova)
***
About Spring
They told us about spring
Songs from the birdhouse
And the earrings are yellow
On hazel branches.
They told us about spring
Sparrows are pugnacious,
Hairy willows,
The streams are noisy.
Butterfly hives
In a forest thawed area,
Blue snowdrops
And damp felt boots.
(N. Naydenova)
Tasks.
"Find the extra word."
Explain your choice.
1.March, April, May, November:
2. coltsfoot, lungwort, chamomile, snowdrop;
3.bear, fox, calf, squirrel;
4.butterfly, wagtail, bumblebee, bee;
5.tractor, shovel, rake, pitchfork.
Name the action:
1. What does the sun do in spring?
(It shines, illuminates the earth, warms, warms, pleases, shines...)
2. What does grass do in spring?
(It rises, appears, sprouts, breaks through, turns green, covers the earth with a carpet...)
3. What do birds do in spring?
(They fly in, return to their native lands, build nests, settle in birdhouses, hatch chicks...)
4. What do the buds do in the spring?
(They pour, swell, burst, unfold into green leaves, grow, open; the first leaves appear from the buds - tender, green, fragrant, fragrant...)
5. What can you do with flowers?(Plant, water, look at them, admire them, give them, smell them, cut them, put them in a vase...)
Proverbs about Spring:
1. April with water, May with grass.
2. May, May, don’t take off your fur coat.
3. Whoever does not start sowing in March forgets about his wealth.
4. Spring is our father and mother; whoever does not sow will not reap.
5. Spring is red during the day.
6. Spring will show everything.
7. Martok - wear two trousers.
8. March sets the frost on the nose.
9. No matter how angry the blizzard is, everything smells like spring.
10. Water flowed from the mountains - it brought spring.
11. Prepare the sleigh in the spring and the wheels in the fall.
12. If you miss a day in the spring, you won’t get it back in a year.
13. A day earlier you sow, a week earlier you harvest.
14. If you sow in good weather, you will produce more offspring.
15. He who sows early does not lose seeds.
16. He who hopes for heaven sits without bread.
17. In the spring, if you fall behind for an hour, you won’t catch up during the day.
18. Spring is red during the day.
Riddles about Spring:
I water the crops
There is a lot of movement.
My name is... (spring)
The first to get out of the earth
On a thawed patch
He is not afraid of frost
Even if it's small. (Snowdrop)
The snow is melting,
The meadow came to life
The day is coming...
When does this happen? (Spring)
She grows upside down
It grows not in summer, but in winter.
But the sun will bake her -
She will cry and die. (Icicle)
If he wants, he will fly straight,
He wants - he hangs in the air,
Falls like a stone from the heights
And in the fields he sings, sings. (Lark)
It made a noise, it made a noise,
I washed everything and left.
And gardens and orchards
It watered the whole area. (Storm)
They can't wait for me,
As soon as they see it, they will run away. (Rain)
An arrow flew
Fell into a swan.
I'm looking but I can't find it. (Lightning)
The ox roared
A hundred mountains
For a thousand cities. (Thunder)
Riddles about the month of March:
***
In warm sunny boots,
With a light on the clasps,
A boy runs through the snow
- The snow is scary, naughty girl:
As soon as he steps, the snow melts,
The ice along the rivers has broken.
He was overcome with excitement.
And this boy is ... (March)
***
A warm south wind blows,
The sun is shining brighter.
The snow is thinning, softening, melting,
The loud rook flies.
What month? Who will know?
(March)
***
Streams run faster
The sun is shining warmer.
Sparrow is happy about the weather
- Visited us for a month...
(March)
Poems:
***
No wonder winter is angry,
Its time has passed -
Spring is knocking on the window
And he drives him out of the yard.
And everything started to fuss,
Everything forces Winter to get out -
And larks in the sky
The ringing bell has already been raised.
Winter is still busy
And he grumbles about Spring.
She laughs in her eyes
And it just makes more noise... .
(F. Tyutchev)
***
March women's holiday notes
Gives gifts, congratulates
And - in cellophane from the frost -
He gives mimosa sprigs to everyone.
Riddles about the month of April:
***
The river roars furiously
And breaks the ice.
The starling returned to his house,
And in the forest the bear woke up.
A lark trills in the sky.
Who came to us?
(April)
***
The bear crawled out of the den,
Dirt and puddles on the road,
A lark trills in the sky
- He came to visit us...
(April)
***
It's frosty at night,
In the morning - drops,
So, in the yard...
(April)
***
The forest, fields and mountains wake up,
All the meadows and gardens.
He knocks on every hole,
Humming by the water.
"Wake up! Wake up!
Sing, laugh, smile!"
A pipe can be heard far away.
This wakes everyone up...
(April)
Poems:
***
Snow is melting,
And drops from the roofs,
The birds have returned from the south.
Mischievous boy -
April
It frolics in all the streams.
***
The bear woke up
No sadness, no anxiety
The bear was sleeping in his den.
Slept all winter until spring
And he probably had dreams.
Suddenly the clubfoot woke up,
He hears a drip...
What a disaster!
I groped in the dark with my paw
And he jumped up - there was water all around!
The bear hurried outside:
Floods - no time for sleep!
He got out and saw: puddles,
Snow is melting...
Spring came!
(G. Ladonshchikov)
***
April
Streams run through the fields,
There are puddles on the roads,
The ants will come out soon
After the winter cold.
A bear sneaks through
Through the dead wood.
The birds began to sing songs.
And the snowdrop blossomed.
(S. Marshak)
***
The king's eyebrows are furrowed,
Said yesterday:
"A storm has struck
Monument to Peter."
He got scared:
"I did not know! Really?
The king laughed:
“First, brother, April...”
(A.S. Pushkin)
Riddles about the month of May:
***
The distance of the fields is green,
The nightingale sings.
IN White color the garden is dressed,
The bees are the first to fly.
Thunder rumbles. Guess,
What month is this?
(May)
***
The garden tried on white,
The nightingale sings a sonnet,
Our land is dressed in greenery
- We are greeted warmly...
(May)
***
A baby is running in bast shoes,
You can hear his steps.
He runs and everything blooms,
He laughs and keeps singing.
Hid happiness in petals
On the lilac bushes.
“My lily of the valley, smell sweet!”
- The cheerful one commanded...
(May)
Poems
:
***
May!
Nature breathes.
On warm days
They buzzed in the cherries
May beetles.
Seven cherries.
Each contains three beetles.
You'll count the beetles
For sure.
***
Come on over!
Dear little starling,
Come finally!
For you I built a house,
Not a birdhouse, but a palace!
Come and sing
A song about green may!
Come to our yard soon!
All is ready! Come!
(M. Karim)
***
May
The lily of the valley bloomed in May
On the holiday itself - on the first day.
Seeing off May with flowers,
The lilac is blooming.
(S. Marshak)
***
Victory Day
May holiday -
Victory Day
The whole country celebrates.
Our grandfathers put on
Military orders.
The road calls them in the morning
To the ceremonial parade.
And thoughtfully from the doorway
The grandmothers look after them.
(T. Belozerov)
K. Ushinsky “Morning Rays”
The red sun floated into the sky and began sending out its golden rays everywhere - waking up the earth.
The first ray flew and hit the lark. The lark perked up, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang its silver song: “Oh, how nice it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get some juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop. The rooster flapped his wings and sang: “Ku-ka-re-ku!” The chickens flew away from their infestations, clucked, and began to rake away the rubbish and look for worms.
The fourth ray hit the hive. A bee crawled out of its wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and “zoom-zoom-zoom!” - flew off to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the little lazy boy in the nursery: it hit him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.
I. Turgenev “Sparrow”
I was returning from hunting and walking along the garden alley. The dog ran ahead of me.
Suddenly she slowed down her steps and began to sneak around, as if sensing game in front of her.
I looked along the alley and saw a young sparrow with yellowness around its beak and down on its head. He fell from the nest (the wind strongly shook the birch trees of the alley) and sat motionless, helplessly spreading his barely sprouted wings.
My dog was slowly approaching him, when suddenly, falling from a nearby tree, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone in front of her muzzle - and all disheveled, distorted, with a desperate and pitiful squeak, he jumped a couple of times in the direction of the toothy open mouth.
He rushed to save, he shielded his brainchild... but his whole small body trembled with horror, his voice grew wild and hoarse, he froze, he sacrificed himself!
What a huge monster the dog must have seemed to him! And yet he could not sit on his high, safe thread... A force stronger than his will threw him out of there.
My Trezor stopped, backed away... Apparently, he recognized this power.
I hastened to call the embarrassed dog back and left in awe.
Yes, don't laugh. I was in awe of that little heroic bird, of her loving impulse.
Love, I thought, is stronger than death and the fear of death. Only by her, only by love does life hold and move.
K. Ushinsky “Swallow”
In the fall, the boy wanted to destroy the swallow’s nest stuck under the roof, in which the owners were no longer there: sensing the approach of cold weather, they flew away.
“Don’t ruin the nest,” the father said to the boy, “in the spring the swallow will fly again, and she will be pleased to find her former house.”
The boy obeyed his father.
Winter passed, and at the end of April a pair of sharp-winged, beautiful birds, cheerful and chirping, flew in and began to fly around the old nest.
Work was in full swing; The swallows carried clay and silt from a nearby stream in their noses, and soon the nest, which had deteriorated a little over the winter, was redecorated. Then the swallows began to carry either fluff, then a feather, or a stalk of moss into the nest.
A few more days passed, and the boy noticed that only one swallow was flying out of the nest, and the other remained in it constantly.
“Apparently, she put on the testicles and is now sitting on them,” the boy thought.
In fact, after three weeks, tiny heads began to peek out of the nest. How glad the boy was now that he had not ruined the nest!
Sitting on the porch, he spent hours watching how caring birds flew through the air and caught flies, mosquitoes and midges. How quickly they scurried back and forth, how tirelessly they obtained food for their children!
The boy marveled at how the swallows did not get tired of flying all day long, without sitting down for almost a single minute, and expressed his surprise to his father. The father took out a stuffed swallow and showed it to his son:
- Look how long, large wings and tail the swallow has in comparison with its small, light body and such tiny legs that it has almost nothing to sit on; that's why she can fly so fast and for a long time. If the swallow could speak, then she would tell you such wonders - about the southern Russian steppes, about Crimean mountains covered with grapes, about the stormy Black Sea, which she had to fly through without sitting down even once, about Asia Minor, where everything was blooming and green when we already had snow, about the blue Mediterranean Sea, where she had to rest once or twice the islands, about Africa, where she built her nest and caught midges when we had Epiphany frosts.
“I didn’t think swallows fly so far,” said the boy.
“And not only swallows,” continued the father, “larks, quails, blackbirds, cuckoos, wild ducks, geese and many other birds, which are called migratory, also fly away from us to warm countries for the winter. For some, the warmth that happens in winter in southern Germany and France is enough; others need to fly over high snowy mountains to take refuge for the winter in the blooming lemon and orange groves of Italy and Greece; the third needs to fly even further, to fly across the entire Mediterranean Sea.
- Why don’t they stay in warm countries whole year“, the boy asked, “if it’s so good there?”
Apparently they don't have enough food for their children, or maybe it's too hot. But marvel at this: how do swallows, flying thousands of four miles, find their way to the very house where they have built their nest?
A. Chekhov “In Spring”
(excerpt)
The snow has not yet melted from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul. If you have ever recovered from serious illness, then you know the blissful state when you freeze from vague premonitions and smile for no reason. Apparently, nature is now experiencing the same state. The ground is cold, the mud and snow squelch underfoot, but how cheerful, affectionate, and welcoming everything is all around! The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb a dovecote or a bell tower, you seem to see the entire universe from edge to edge.
The sun is shining brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in the puddles along with the sparrows. The river swells and darkens; she has already woken up and will begin to roar today or tomorrow. The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe...
A. Chekhov “White-fronted”
The hungry wolf got up to go hunting. Her cubs, all three of them, were fast asleep, huddled together, warming each other. She licked them and walked away.
Was already spring month March, but at night the trees crackled with cold, like in December, and as soon as you stuck out your tongue, it began to sting strongly. The wolf was in poor health and suspicious; She shuddered at the slightest noise and kept thinking about how at home without her no one would offend the wolf cubs. The smell of human and horse tracks, tree stumps, stacked firewood and the dark, manure-laden road frightened her; It seemed to her as if people were standing behind the trees in the darkness and dogs were howling somewhere beyond the forest.
She was no longer young and her instincts had weakened, so that it happened that she mistook a fox’s track for a dog’s; sometimes even, deceived by her instincts, she lost her way, which had never happened to her in her youth. Due to poor health, she no longer hunted calves and large rams, as before, and already walked far around horses with foals, but ate only carrion; She had to eat fresh meat very rarely, only in the spring, when she, having come across a hare, took her children away from her or climbed into the peasants' barn where the lambs were.
About four versts from her lair, near the post road, there was a winter hut. Here lived the watchman Ignat, an old man of about seventy, who kept coughing and talking to himself; He usually slept at night, and during the day he wandered through the forest with a single-barreled gun and whistled at the hares. He must have served as a mechanic before, because every time before stopping he shouted to himself: “Stop, car!” and before going any further: “Full speed ahead!” With him was a huge black Dog unknown breed, named Arapka. When she ran far ahead, he shouted to her: “Reverse!” Sometimes he sang and at the same time staggered greatly and often fell (the wolf thought it was from the wind) and shouted: “He went off the rails!”
The wolf remembered that in the summer and autumn a sheep and two lambs grazed near the winter hut, and when she ran past not so long ago, she thought she heard something bleating in the barn. And now, approaching the winter quarters, she realized that it was already March and, judging by the time, there must certainly be lambs in the barn. She was tormented by hunger, she thought about how greedily she would eat the lamb, and from such thoughts her teeth clicked and her eyes shone in the darkness like two lights.
Ignat's hut, his barn, stable and well were surrounded high snowdrifts. It was quiet. The little black must have been sleeping under the barn.
The wolf climbed up the snowdrift to the barn and began raking the thatched roof with her paws and muzzle. The straw was rotten and loose, so that the wolf almost fell through; Suddenly a smell of warm steam and the smell of manure and sheep's milk hit her right in the face. Below, feeling the cold, the lamb bleated tenderly. Jumping into the hole, the she-wolf fell with her front paws and chest on something soft and warm, probably on a ram, and at that time something in the barn suddenly squealed, barked and burst into a thin, howling voice, the sheep shied towards the wall, and The wolf, frightened, grabbed the first thing she caught in her teeth and rushed out...
She ran, straining her strength, and at this time Arapka, who had already sensed the wolf, howled furiously, disturbed chickens clucked in the winter hut, and Ignat, going out onto the porch, shouted:
- Full speed ahead! Let's go to the whistle!
And it whistled like a car, and then - go-go-go-go!.. And all this noise was repeated by the forest echo.
When little by little all this calmed down, the she-wolf calmed down a little and began to notice that her prey, which she held in her teeth and dragged through the snow, was heavier and seemed to be harder than lambs usually are at this time; and it smelled as if different, and you could hear some strange noises... The wolf stopped and put her burden on the snow to rest and start eating, and suddenly jumped back in disgust. It was not a lamb, but a puppy, black, with a large head and high legs, a large breed, with the same white spot all over its forehead like Arapka. Judging by his manners, he was an ignoramus, a simple mongrel. He licked his bruised, wounded back and, as if nothing had happened, waved his tail and barked at the wolf. She growled like a dog and ran away from him. He's behind her. She looked back and clicked her teeth; he stopped in bewilderment and, probably deciding that it was she who was playing with him, stretched his muzzle towards the winter hut and burst into a loud, joyful bark, as if inviting his mother Arapka to play with him and the wolf.
It was already dawn, and when the wolf made her way to her place through the dense aspen forest, every aspen tree was clearly visible, and the black grouse were already waking up and beautiful roosters often fluttered up, disturbed by the careless jumps and barking of the puppy.
“Why is he running after me? - thought the wolf with annoyance. “He must want me to eat him.”
She lived with the wolf cubs in a shallow hole; three years ago, during a strong storm, a tall old pine tree was uprooted, which is why this hole was formed. Now at the bottom there were old leaves and moss, and there were bones and bull horns with which the wolf cubs played. They had already woken up and all three, very similar to each other, stood side by side on the edge of their hole and, looking at the returning mother, wagged their tails. Seeing them, the puppy stopped at a distance and looked at them for a long time; noticing that they were also looking at him attentively, he began to bark angrily at them, as if they were strangers.
It was already dawn and the sun had risen, the snow was sparkling all around, and he still stood at a distance and barked. The wolf cubs sucked their mother, pushing her with their paws into her skinny belly, and at that time she was gnawing on a horse bone, white and dry; she was tormented by hunger, her head ached from dog barking, and she wanted to rush at the uninvited guest and tear him apart.
Finally the puppy became tired and hoarse; Seeing that they were not afraid of him and did not even pay attention to him, he began to timidly, now crouching, now jumping, approach the wolf cubs. Now, at daylight, it was already easy to see him... His white forehead was large, and on his forehead there was a bump, such as happens to very stupid dogs; the eyes were small, blue, dull, and the expression of the entire muzzle was extremely stupid. Approaching the wolf cubs, he stretched his wide paws forward, put his muzzle on them and began:
- Mnya, mnya... nga-nga-nga!..
The wolf cubs did not understand anything, but waved their tails. Then the puppy hit one of the wolf cubs on the big head with his paw. The wolf cub also hit him on the head with his paw. The puppy stood sideways to him and looked at him sideways, wagging its tail, then suddenly rushed away and made several circles on the crust. The wolf cubs chased him, he fell on his back and lifted his legs up, and the three of them attacked him and, squealing with delight, began to bite him, but not painfully, but as a joke. The crows sat on a tall pine tree and looked down at their struggle and were very worried. It became noisy and fun. The sun was already hot like spring; and the roosters, every now and then flying over the pine tree, fallen by the storm, seemed emerald in the brilliance of the sun.
Usually she-wolves accustom their children to hunting by letting them play with prey; and now, watching how the wolf cubs chased the puppy along the crust and fought with it, the wolf thought:
“Let them get used to it.”
Having played enough, the cubs went into the hole and went to bed. The puppy howled a little with hunger, then also stretched out in the sun. And when they woke up, they started playing again.
All day and evening the wolf remembered how last night a lamb bleated in the barn and how it smelled of sheep's milk, and from appetite she kept clicking her teeth and did not stop gnawing greedily on an old bone, imagining to herself that it was a lamb. The wolf cubs suckled, and the puppy, who was hungry, ran around and sniffed the snow.
“Let’s eat it...” the wolf decided.
She came up to him, and he licked her face and whined, thinking that she wanted to play with him. In the past, she ate dogs, but the puppy smelled strongly of dog, and, due to poor health, she no longer tolerated this smell; she felt disgusted and walked away...
By night it got colder. The puppy got bored and went home.
When the wolf cubs were fast asleep, the wolf went hunting again. Like the previous night, she was alarmed by the slightest noise, and she was frightened by stumps, firewood, and dark, lonely juniper bushes that looked like people from a distance. She ran away from the road, along the crust. Suddenly, far ahead, something dark flashed on the road... She strained her eyes and ears: in fact, something was walking ahead, and measured steps could even be heard. Isn't it a badger? She carefully, barely breathing, taking everything to the side, overtook the dark spot, looked back at it and recognized it. It was a puppy with a white forehead who was returning to his winter hut, slowly and step by step.
“I hope he doesn’t bother me again,” the wolf thought and quickly ran forward.
But the winter hut was already close. She again climbed up the snowdrift into the barn. Yesterday's hole had already been filled with spring straw, and two new strips stretched across the roof. The wolf began to quickly work with her legs and muzzle, looking around to see if the puppy was coming, but as soon as the warm steam and the smell of manure hit her, a joyful, liquid bark was heard from behind. It's the puppy back. He jumped onto the wolf's roof, then into a hole and, feeling at home, in the warmth, recognizing his sheep, barked even louder... Arapka woke up under the barn and, sensing the wolf, howled, the chickens clucked, and when Ignat appeared on the porch with with her single-barreled gun, the frightened wolf was already far from her winter hut.
- Fut! - Ignat whistled. - Fut! Drive at full speed!
He pulled the trigger - the gun misfired; he fired again - again it misfired; he fired a third time - and a huge sheaf of fire flew out of the trunk and a deafening “boo!” boo!". There was a strong blow to his shoulder; and, taking a gun in one hand and an ax in the other, he went to see what was causing the noise...
A little later he returned to the hut.
“Nothing...” Ignat answered. - It's an empty matter. Our White-fronted one got into the habit of sleeping with the sheep, in the warmth. Only there is no such thing as a door, but everything seems to be going through the roof. The other night he tore up the roof and went for a walk, the scoundrel, and now he came back and tore up the roof again.
- Silly.
- Yes, the spring in the brain burst. I don't like death, stupid people! - sighed Ignat, who climbed onto the stove. - Well, man of God, it’s too early to get up, let’s go to sleep at full speed...
And in the morning he called White-fronted to him, tore him painfully by the ears and then, punishing him with a twig, kept saying:
- Go through the door! Walk through the door! Walk through the door!
A. Kuprin “Starlings”
It was mid-March. Spring this year turned out to be smooth and friendly.
Occasionally there were heavy falls, but short rains. We have already driven on wheels on roads covered with thick mud. The snow still lay in drifts in deep forests and in shady ravines, but in the fields it settled, became loose and dark, and from under it, in some places, black, greasy soil steaming in the sun appeared in large bald patches. The birch buds are swollen. The lambs on the willows turned from white to yellow, fluffy and huge. The willow blossomed. The bees flew out of the hives for the first bribe. On forest glades The first snowdrops appeared timidly.
We were looking forward to seeing old friends fly into our garden again - starlings, these cute, cheerful, sociable birds, the first migratory guests, the joyful messengers of spring. They need to fly many hundreds of miles from their winter camps, from the south of Europe, from Asia Minor, from northern regions Africa. Others will have to do more than three thousand versts. Many will fly over the seas: Mediterranean or Black. There are so many adventures and dangers along the way: rains, storms, dense fogs, hail clouds, predator birds, shots from greedy hunters. How much incredible effort a small creature weighing about twenty to twenty-five spools must use for such a flight. Really, the shooters who destroy a bird during a difficult journey, when, obeying the mighty call of nature, have no heart, it strives to the place where it first hatched from the egg and saw sunlight and greens.
Animals have a lot of their own wisdom, incomprehensible to people. Birds are especially sensitive to weather changes and predict them long ago, but it often happens that migratory wanderers in the middle of a vast sea are suddenly overtaken by a sudden hurricane, often with snow. It is far from the shores, the strength is weakened by the long flight... Then the entire flock dies, with the exception of a small part of the strongest. Happiness for the birds if they encounter a sea vessel in these terrible moments. In a whole cloud they descend on the deck, on the wheelhouse, on the rigging, on the sides, as if entrusting their little life to a person in danger. And stern sailors will never offend them, will not offend their reverent gullibility. A beautiful sea legend even says that inevitable misfortune threatens the ship on which the bird that asked for shelter was killed.
Coastal lighthouses can sometimes be disastrous. Lighthouse keepers sometimes find in the mornings, after foggy nights, hundreds and even thousands of bird corpses in the galleries surrounding the lantern and on the ground around the building. Exhausted by the flight, heavy from the sea moisture, the birds, having reached the shore in the evening, unconsciously rush to where they are deceptively attracted by light and warmth, and in their fast flight they smash their chests against thick glass, iron and stone.
But an experienced, old leader will always save his flock from this misfortune by taking a different direction in advance. Birds also hit telegraph wires if for some reason they fly low, especially at night and in fog.
Having made a dangerous crossing across the sea plain, starlings rest all day and always in a certain, favorite place from year to year. I once saw one such place in Odessa in the spring. This is a house on the corner of Preobrazhenskaya Street and Cathedral Square, opposite the cathedral garden. This house was then completely black and seemed to be all stirring from the great multitude of starlings that settled everywhere: on the roof, on the balconies, cornices, window sills, trim, window visors and on the moldings. And the sagging telegraph and telephone wires were closely strung with them, like large black rosaries. There was so much deafening screaming, squeaking, whistling, chattering, chirping and all sorts of bustle, chatter and quarrel.
Despite their recent fatigue, they certainly could not sit still for a minute. Every now and then they pushed each other, falling up and down, circling, flying away and returning again. Only old, experienced, wise starlings sat in important solitude and sedately cleaned their feathers with their beaks. The entire sidewalk along the house turned white, and if a careless pedestrian happened to gape, then trouble threatened his coat and hat.
Starlings make their flights very quickly, sometimes making up to eighty miles per hour. They will fly to a familiar place early in the evening, feed themselves, take a short nap at night, in the morning - before dawn - have a light breakfast and set off again, with two or three stops in the middle of the day. So, we waited for the starlings. We fixed old birdhouses that had become warped from the winter winds and hung new ones. Three years ago we had only two of them, last year five, and now twelve. It was a little annoying that the sparrows imagined that this courtesy was being done for them, and immediately, at the first warmth, the birdhouses took over. Amazing bird this sparrow, and everywhere he is the same - in the north of Norway and on the Azores: nimble, rogue, thief, bully, brawler, gossip and the most impudent one. He will spend the whole winter hunched up under a fence or in the depths of a dense spruce, eating what he finds on the road, and as soon as spring comes he climbs into someone else’s nest, which is closer to home - a birdhouse or a swallow. And they will kick him out, as if nothing had happened... He flutters, jumps, sparkles with his little eyes and shouts to the whole universe: “Alive, alive, alive! Alive, alive, alive! Please tell me what good news for the world!
Finally, on the nineteenth, in the evening (it was still light), someone shouted: “Look - starlings!” Indeed, they sat high on the branches of poplars and, after the sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black. We began to count them: one, two... five... ten... fifteen... And next to the neighbors, among the transparent spring-like trees, these dark motionless lumps easily swayed on flexible branches. That evening there was no noise or fuss among the starlings.
For two days the starlings seemed to be gaining strength and kept visiting and inspecting last year’s familiar places. And then the eviction of sparrows began. I did not notice any particularly violent clashes between starlings and sparrows.
Usually starlings sit in twos high above the birdhouses and, apparently, chatter carelessly about something among themselves, while they themselves gaze downwards with one eye, sideways. It's scary and difficult for the sparrow. No, no - he sticks his sharp, cunning nose out of the round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, frivolity, and perhaps timidity make themselves felt. “I’m flying, he thinks, for a minute and right away. Maybe I'll outwit you. Maybe they won’t notice.” And as soon as it has time to fly away a fathom, the starling drops like a stone and is already at home. And now the sparrow’s temporary economy has come to an end. Starlings guard the nest one by one: one sits while the other flies on business. Sparrows would never think of such a trick: they are a flighty, empty, frivolous bird. And so, out of chagrin, great battles begin between the sparrows, during which fluff and feathers fly into the air. And the starlings sit high in the trees and even tease: “Hey, black-headed one. You won’t be able to overcome that yellow-chested one forever and ever.” - "How? To me? Yes, I’ll take him now!” - “Come on, come on...” And there will be a dump. However, in the spring all the animals and birds and even the boys fight much more than in the winter.
Having settled in the nest, the starling begins to carry all kinds of construction nonsense there: moss, cotton wool, feathers, fluff, rags, straw, dry blades of grass.
He makes the nest very deep, so that a cat does not crawl in with its paw or a raven sticks its long predatory beak through it. They cannot penetrate further: the entrance hole is quite small, no more than five centimeters in diameter.
And then soon the ground dried up, fragrant Birch buds blossomed.
Fields are plowed, vegetable gardens are dug up and loosened. How many different worms, caterpillars, slugs, bugs and larvae crawl into the light! What an expanse!
In the spring, a starling never looks for its food, either in the air in flight, like swallows, or on a tree, like a nuthatch or woodpecker. Its food is on the ground and in the ground. And do you know how many insects it destroys during the summer, if you count it by weight? A thousand times more own weight! But he spends his whole day in continuous movement.
It is interesting to watch when he, walking between the beds or along the path, hunts for his prey. His gait is very fast and slightly clumsy, with a sway from side to side. Suddenly he stops, turns to one side, then to the other, bows his head first to the left, then to the right. It will quickly bite and run on. And again, and again... Its black back casts a metallic green or purple, chest with brown specks. And during this business there is so much in him of something businesslike, fussy and funny that you look at him for a long time and involuntarily smile.
It is best to observe the starling early in the morning, before sunrise, and for this you need to get up early. However, an old clever saying says: “He who gets up early doesn’t lose.” If you sit quietly in the morning, every day, without sudden movements somewhere in the garden or vegetable garden, then the starlings will soon get used to you and will come very close. Try throwing worms or bread crumbs to the bird, first from afar, then decreasing the distance. You will achieve the fact that after a while the starling will take food from your hands and sit on your shoulder. And having arrived at next year, he will very soon resume and conclude his former friendship with you. Just don't betray his trust. The only difference between both of you is that he is small and you are big. A bird is a very smart, observant creature; she is extremely remembering and grateful for any kindness.
AND real song The starling should be listened to only in the early morning, when the first pink light of dawn colors the trees and with them the birdhouses, which are always located with the opening to the east. The air warmed up a little, and the starlings had already settled on high branches and began their concert. I don’t know, really, whether the starling has his own motives, but you will hear enough of anything alien in his song. There are pieces of nightingale trills, and the sharp meow of an oriole, and the sweet voice of a robin, and the musical babbling of a warbler, and the thin whistling of a titmouse, and among these melodies such sounds are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you can’t help but laugh: a hen cackles on a tree , the sharpener's knife will hiss, the door will creak, the children's military trumpet will blow. And, having made this unexpected musical retreat, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without a break, continues his cheerful, sweet, humorous song. One of my acquaintances is a starling (and only one, because I always heard it in certain place) amazingly faithfully imitated the stork. I just imagined this venerable white black-tailed bird, when it stands on one leg on the edge of its round nest, on the roof of a Little Russian hut,2 and beats out a ringing shot with its long red beak. Other starlings did not know how to do this thing.
In mid-May, the mother starling lays four to five small, bluish, glossy eggs and sits on them. Now the father starling has a new duty - to entertain the female in the mornings and evenings with his singing throughout the incubation period, which lasts about two weeks. And, I must say, during this period he no longer mocks or teases anyone. Now his song is gentle, simple and extremely melodic.
By the beginning of June, the chicks had already hatched. The starling chick is a true monster, which consists entirely of the head, but the head only consists of a huge, yellow-edged, unusually voracious mouth. For caring parents The most troublesome time has come. No matter how much you feed the little ones, they are always hungry. And then there’s the constant fear of cats and jackdaws; It’s scary to be far from the birdhouse.
But starlings are good companions. As soon as jackdaws or crows get into the habit of circling around the nest, a watchman is immediately appointed, the starling on duty sits on the top of the tallest tree and, whistling quietly, vigilantly looks in all directions. As soon as the predators appear close, the watchman gives a signal, and the entire starling tribe flocks to protect the younger generation. I once saw how all the starlings who were visiting me were driving along at least three jackdaws a mile away. What a vicious persecution this was! The starlings soared easily and quickly over the jackdaws, fell on them from a height, scattered to the sides, closed again and, catching up with the jackdaws, climbed up again for a new blow.
The jackdaws seemed cowardly, clumsy, rude and helpless in their heavy flight, and the starlings were like some kind of sparkling, transparent spindles flashing in the air.
But it’s already the end of July. One day you go out into the garden and listen. No starlings. You didn’t even notice how the little ones grew up and how they learned to fly.
Now they have left their native homes and are leading new life in forests, in winter fields, near distant swamps. There they gather in small flocks and learn to fly for a long time, preparing for the autumn migration. Soon the young people will face their first, great exam, from which some will not come out alive. Occasionally, however, starlings return for a moment to their abandoned father's homes.
They will fly in, circle in the air, sit on a branch near the birdhouses, frivolously whistle some newly picked up motif and fly away, sparkling with their light wings.
But the first cold weather has already set in. It's time to go. By order mighty nature the leader gives a sign one morning, and the air cavalry, squadron after squadron, takes off into the air and rapidly rushes south. Goodbye, dear starlings! Come in the spring. The nests are waiting for you...
Stories about spring by Chekhov, Prishvin, Ushinsky
Anton Chekhov "In Spring"
The snow has not yet melted from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul.
The ground is cold, the mud and snow squelch underfoot, but how cheerful, affectionate, and welcoming everything is all around!
The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb onto the dovecote, you seem to see the entire universe from edge to edge. The sun is shining brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in the puddles along with the sparrows.
The river swells and darkens; she has already woken up and will not roar today or tomorrow. The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe.
At such times it is good to drive with a broom or shovel dirty water in ditches, launching boats on the water or hammering stubborn ice with your heels.
It is also good to chase pigeons to the very heights of heaven or climb trees and tie birdhouses there. Yes, everything is fine at this happy time of year, especially if you love nature...
Mikhail Prishvin “Forest Doctor”
We wandered in the forest in the spring and observed the life of hollow birds: woodpeckers, owls. Suddenly, in the direction where we had previously planned interesting tree, we heard the sound of a saw. It was, as we were told, the preparation of firewood from dead wood for a glass factory. We were afraid for our tree, we hurried towards the sound of the saw, but it was too late: our aspen lay, and there were many empty trees around its stump. fir cones. The woodpecker exfoliated all this for long winter, collected it, carried it to this aspen tree, laid it between two branches of his workshop and hollowed it out. Near the stump, on our cut aspen, two boys were resting. All these two boys were doing was sawing the wood.
- Oh, you pranksters! - we said and pointed them to the cut aspen. “You were ordered to cut dead trees, but what did you do?”
“The woodpecker made a hole,” the guys answered. “We took a look and, of course, we cut it down.” It will still be lost.
Everyone began to examine the tree together. It was completely fresh, and only in a small space, no more than a meter in length, did a worm pass inside the trunk. The woodpecker apparently listened to the aspen like a doctor: he tapped it with his beak, realized the emptiness left by the worm, and began the operation of extracting the worm. And the second time, and the third, and the fourth... The thin trunk of the aspen looked like a pipe with valves. The “surgeon” made seven holes and only on the eighth he caught the worm, pulled out and saved the aspen. We cut this piece out as a wonderful exhibit for a museum.
“You see,” we told the guys, “the woodpecker is a forest doctor, he saved the aspen, and it would live and live, and you cut it down.”
The boys were amazed.
Mikhail Prishvin “Hot Hour”
It is melting in the fields, but in the forest the snow still lies untouched in dense pillows on the ground and on the branches of trees, and the trees stand in captivity in the snow. Thin trunks bent to the ground, frozen and waiting from hour to hour for release. Finally this hot hour comes, the happiest for motionless trees and terrible for animals and birds.
The hot hour has arrived, the snow is melting imperceptibly, and in the complete silence of the forest, a spruce branch seems to move and sway by itself. And just under this tree, covered with its wide branches, a hare sleeps. In fear, he stands up and listens: the twig cannot move by itself. The hare is scared, and then before his eyes another, third branch moved and, freed from the snow, jumped. The hare darted, ran, sat down again and listened: where is the trouble, where should he run?
And as soon as he stood on his hind legs, he just looked around, how he would jump up in front of his very nose, how he would straighten up, how a whole birch tree would sway, how a Christmas tree branch would wave nearby!
And it went and went: branches were jumping everywhere, breaking out of the snow captivity, the whole forest was moving around, the whole forest was moving. And the maddened hare rushes about, and every animal gets up, and the bird flies away from the forest.
Mikhail Prishvin “Trees in captivity”
Spring was shining in the sky, but the forest was still in winter was covered with snow. have you been snowy winter V young forest? Of course they weren’t: it’s impossible to enter there.
Where in the summer you walked along a wide path, now bent trees lie across this path in both directions, and so low that only a hare could run under them.
This is what happened to the trees: the birch tree with its top, like a palm, picked up the falling snow, and so one could walk along such a path without bending one’s back. During the thaw, snow fell again and stuck to whoever it was. Top with that a huge lump Everything bent and finally sank into the snow and froze until spring. Animals and people, occasionally on skis, passed under this arch all winter.
But I know one simple magical way to walk along such a path without bending your back.
I break out a good weighty stick for myself, and as soon as I give this stick a good hit on the leaning tree, the snow falls down, the tree jumps up and makes way for me. Slowly I walk like this and with a magical blow I free many trees.
Mikhail Prishvin “Conversation of trees”
The buds open, chocolate, with green tails, and on each green beak hangs a large transparent drop. You take one bud, rub it between your fingers, and then for a long time everything smells like the fragrant resin of birch, poplar or bird cherry.
You sniff a bird cherry bud and immediately remember how you used to climb up a tree for berries, shiny, black-varnished. I ate handfuls of them straight from the pits, but nothing but good came from it.
The evening is warm, and there is such silence, as if something should happen in such silence. And then the trees begin to whisper among themselves: a white birch with another white birch echoes from afar; a young aspen came out into the clearing, like a green candle, and called to itself the same green aspen candle, waving a twig; The bird cherry gives the bird cherry a branch with open buds. If you compare with us, we echo sounds, but they have aroma.
Mikhail Prishvin “Nut haze”
The barometer is falling, but instead of a beneficent warm rain a cold wind comes. And yet spring continues to advance.
Today, the lawns have turned green, first along the edges of the streams, then along the southern slopes of the banks, near the road, and by evening they turned green everywhere on earth. The wavy lines of plowing in the fields were beautiful - growing black with absorbed greenery.
The buds on the bird cherry tree today have turned into green spears.
The nut catkins began to gather dust, and smoke rose up under each bird fluttering in the nut tree.
Mikhail Prishvin "Woodcock"
Spring is moving, but slowly. In the lake, which has not yet completely melted, frogs lean out and purr. The nut is blooming, but its earrings are not yet dusting with yellow pollen. The bird will catch a twig in flight, and yellow smoke will not fly from the twig.
The last shreds of snow in the forest are disappearing. The foliage emerges from under the snow, densely packed and gray.
Not far from me I saw a bird the same color as last year’s foliage, with large black expressive eyes and a long nose, at least half a pencil.
We sat motionless; When the woodcock was sure that we were not alive, he stood up, waved his pencil and hit it on the hot, rotten leaves.
It was impossible to see what he got out from under the foliage, but only we noticed that from this blow into the ground through the foliage, one round aspen leaf remained on his nose.
Then more and more were added. Then we scared him away; he flew along the edge of the forest, very close to us, and we managed to count: he had seven old aspen leaves on his beak.
Konstantin Ushinsky “Morning Rays”
The red sun floated into the sky and began sending out its golden rays everywhere - waking up the earth.
The first ray flew and hit the lark.
The lark perked up, fluttered out of the nest, rose high, high and sang its silver song: “Oh, how nice it is in the fresh morning air! How good! How fun!”
The second beam hit the bunny. The bunny twitched his ears and hopped merrily across the dewy meadow: he ran to get some juicy grass for breakfast.
The third beam hit the chicken coop.
The rooster flapped his wings and sang: “Ku-ka-re-ku!” The chickens flew away from their infestations, clucked, and began to rake away the rubbish and look for worms.
The fourth ray hit the hive.
A bee crawled out of its wax cell, sat on the window, spread its wings and “zum-zum-zum!” - flew off to collect honey from fragrant flowers.
The fifth ray hit the little lazy boy in the nursery: it hit him right in the eyes, and he turned on the other side and fell asleep again.